My Rose is a boy
by Umbra viridis -tco
Summary: Can a mere eleven year old boy be a casus beli, which stands for the reason to start a war ? The answer is "yes" when along comes love, devotion, loyalty and absolute power. Expect the unexpected. Ch. eight incoming.
1. one

There once was this book, a sort of a guide of mine, how to be good in who I am

There once was this book, a sort of a guide of mine, how to be good in who I am. Compared to my age, the book is maybe five minutes old. That's almost nothing, yet absolutely compulsory in the Fairy World. I don't remember the author nor the title. But there's actually one thing that makes me mention about it now.

In the book, there was a rose. She was delicate, proud, a bit of a cute little liar, a helpless egoistic sweetheart, always giggling astonished when she felt uneasy.

I never cared much about lectures, or books I've read ages ago, or anything that had to do anything with my duties, or anything, whatever. Now it comes to me each day, the thoughts about the rose. And I'm not surprised at all although maybe I should be-I've had more little angels to take care about than Madonna ever had her fans to suck out their money, nothing like this ever happened before, not even thinking about books, because it's just the top of the iceberg of my dilemmas.

How poetic. How painfully lame.

Oh, and about Madonna, I like Bee Gees more.

But to be frank-I hate both.

No Gees, o Holy Virgins, no Bees on my rose.

For my rose is a boy. A delicate little no-one with no special features except of his teeth. My bucktoothed Timothy who's so not special it makes very special indeed.

My little eleven, when I get the gift of hearing him mentioning my name, I hear him talking that my eyes are running away from him to hide, and that I'm afraid of feeling warmth. Beautifully spoken empty words about the eternal fear of love. He's in pity of my fate and then he goes out and plays.

But he doesn't know anything about my fate, he doesn't even know that sometimes I stand behind trees or thorny bush just too see or hear him. Sometimes I can't control myself and I call him by his name out loud. And he never notices, being busy with laughing, ranting or wanting more from those 'wantkeepers' of his. Or maybe he's simply not used to calling him "Timothy". No one except of me ever does that, and why on Earth would I want anything from him?

I am not an option. Probably I am a thorn-eating, sewer-drinking black cat hunter, bathing in acid at day and constructing plans of taking control in my royal head on the long, lonely nights sitting cold blooded in a dark cellar, on my stone throne on my distinguished, very own English ass, so I don't have the time to shout to some trees.

Or maybe, in his world, I don't even exist for him all the time I'm not a lethal threat.

Like a disease or a catastrophe that became a joke in the days of peace.

Timothy, you don't know what peace is. You won't know it as long as you keep putting a sign of equality between "peace" and "good".

I want to give you the peace you deserve, my little eleven-like in one of the songs I adore only you're not fifteen, my rose, my rose from the Frenchman's book, I'd love to be your prince and I have no need to leave you, I've already passed all my journeys to find you. But I can't.

I can't. And you call me paranoid and then you laugh with your wantkeepers, they grant all of your wishes, do whatever you want, you laugh-they laugh and they hate me. Dogs.

You just don't understand I can't do what I only think of. When I want to free us both, setting a new order-no order, you stop me without asking for my reasons.

So I try to find joy in bathing with roses, but where I live roses are black and they bring an odor, and my skin has gotten a bit wrinkled from the long hours I've spent there so far.

And there are more to come for you won't fill the void. Why go to bed if it's empty.

I can pretend I can swim. No one sees me.

Oh poop. My biography is an anti-biography for an anti-fairy. Is everything against blue-assed Englishmen here? Is there Doctor House in the house? And why is such a noble name as Timothy constantly screwed up down to Timmy?! That's not you! I'd prove that if I could.

I can't.

I can't…

I can't.


	2. two

Everything around is green and yellow

Everything around is green and yellow. Without a doubt I can say that the grass is a bit too high, but that only makes things easier to me. Well, still it being so itchy isn't much of a help. A wild field of green waves thickly spotted with ugly common yellow flowers, in several places already evolved in white balls of happy flying semen. And I lay there in that weedy kingdom on my chest, supporting my weight on my elbows, probably killing some of those plants, listening to my surroundings at the same time. Such a sunny day. I hate the Sun, I hate it the same here in a peaceful European village.

'I just can't believe it! I don't think I can even grasp it, Cosmo!' I can hear a familiar voice shouting a bit infuriated, while his owner violently tries to pass the highest lanes of grass near where I actually lay. An other voice tried to get a right to speak and explain himself, but the harsh young little voice went on: 'When I said "I wish I were skydiving in the most lame place ever instead of making a presentation for Crocker", I didn't literally mean that! AT ALL!" He finished with a mad man's tone, even higher pitched than usually.

'I guess you can freely present him how you act kinda the same, your "at all" sounded just like his "fairies!" when he goes mentally cracked …Ever thought of being a teacher in the future, Timmy?' Finally replied the older man.

' 'Cause I've actually cracked now, darn it! How am I supposed to get back home before morning, when I've damaged your wand because landing on you around three hours ago in some…uh…Lithuania?!'

'Nah, Timmy, don't mind the wand, or my ribs, you're kinda warm and soft, I'm not mad at you' smiled Cosmo.

'No, I am mad at you! I can see my Fs coming, I can see my dad calling me a "jidiot" and grounding me forever!'

'But…'Cosmo started in a mysterious manner 'you can also see no Vicky here!'

'Um…yeah…' my boy calmed down a little.

'Besides' the excuse for a fairy proceeded, noticing he's getting an advantage in the conversation 'now that you know there ain't nothing like "Eurolithabulgaslavia", you might stop getting so many Fs from Geography! We should have this kind of trips more often!'

'We'll have to go through the half of the world to get back home, I think THIS one very trip is more than enough for my Geography!' Timothy snarled. 'Now we're even unable to contact with Wanda…Cosmo, I'm hungry and we're doomed.'

'Fear not my little one! Let's go west, there has to be some corn and civilization!'

That's the point where I'm sure I despise morons acting like saviors, I'm afraid that's the moment I go into action, you magically impotent fool! Yes, it's about time, otherwise they'll step on me any second now.

Not that I would mind Timothy tripping and falling straight on my back. Only it's not him who is stupid enough to fall.

'My loony counterpart, I'm afraid you're not much of a hero, according to the fact you find putting shiny heroic thongs on latex pants impossible…' I smirk standing now right behind them. 'You can't even save money for a week yet you want to find civilization. My dear Cosmo, you've ruined every civilization you have ever found, you'll kill your corn and both of you sweethearts will die from starvation.' I said putting an explanatory, friendly tone.

'Yeah? And I wonder what made you come here now, you wanted to visit some of your weird family in Transylvania but you've read your map upside down?'

'Oh silence, you!' and I turned him into a huge green pipe. 'Stay quiet and wait for some plumber to please you, now would you Cosmo? It's about time for you.' I chuckled.

'Cut that out you phoney, that wasn't even funny! And I thought my humor is lame' goes Timothy.

'Personally I think it's just as funny as you standing puzzled in the middle of nowhere, having twelve hours to get to school, but having no way to do so. You know, just in case-pipes can't fly. But feel free to try it if you don't believe my words'.

'And you've wasted your time, going out on the sun just to tell me you think my situation is funny' he sarcastically noticed. 'Or is it about making fun out of Cosmo as you've seriously have no other people you could talk to?'

'Oh, now that you've said that-I could be here for anything but for him. If I'd like to see the biggest moron ever lived, it would be enough if I hit my face seventy times with an iron, wore a pink skirt and went to check the mirror I would achieve the same effect as we have here' I pointed at Cosmo 'minus the pipe, that is.'

'You find a lot of pleasure in making idiots bigger idiots, don't you? How eloquent and stylish'.

'Hey!' shouted the pipe, apparently feeling hurt by hearing the obvious from his godchild's mouth.

'I'm afraid I'm eighty percent "Good Samaritan" free, Timothy' I laughed. 'Still, I've got this twenty I can use from time to time.'

'And your point is?' he asked in a pale tone, very slightly interested in my person or anything for the matter.

Such a perfect cruelty he makes when he's, well, ironically, pissed off enough to show no emotions.

He's waiting for me to answer, knowing he's right expecting it this time. A single drop of sweat is running down his cheek, pleasingly burnt by the sun. The corner of his lips slightly twitched when the salty drop passed nearby and went down his partly exposed neck

Oddly, he's gotten used to see me staring at him for long seconds, but it doesn't take even a part of hiss attention, it never did.

A poor child that is absolutely sure I take him for and idiot and laugh inside while having my pleasure staring like a tourist, just like everybody else does.

Timothy was born in a world, where Roses are not loved. And I don't have to be the Little Prince too feel torn by that truth.

'As you've noticed' I finally said, still smirking, 'That's my point. And what is mine, that was never your business, young one'. Timothy is still unsatisfied and sends me a deadly glare. He needs to know everything, he needs to get everything, he needs the attention and a the precious toys the other children will never get. Just like I do.

So I sigh and I go on 'Coincidentally we've met here today, really, Timothy. You and your old pipe friend may think that this the "most lame place ever" now I've parodied his voice and I found it quite fun 'but in my opinion, the local tea you can get here is simply the nectar of Gods' I made that up just now, but Timothy seemed to swallow the little lie easily. A lie as sweet as honey, I hope it tastes well, my dear.

'Things you like to drink are probably highly toxic, just in case you were ever meant to run off of it, but I guess you've got a lifetime reserve there.'

'Well, you're not far from being close comparing Gods to self-intoxicating junkies, but this time it's just about a hot drink, which by the way I highly recommend. A very rare and exclusive one to be frank…'

As for a command his eyes went twice as shiny, he delicately opened his mouth in pure awe, revealing a part of his unique teeth, stood like that for a while, occupied with thinking, then he looked at Cosmo, who was obviously angry for calling him an idiot, or maybe he just fell asleep, finally he turned his eyes on me, only sneaking, thinking I won't notice.

Oh my, I guess 'that's the spot' like they say. Words like "rare" and "exclusive" work on him like a magnet. So now that I've found it, maybe I'll rub the itch for a better effect? 'Maybe you'd like to have a drink, say, back in America?' Timothy raised his eyebrow in suspicion.

'And why would you invite me, huh? You're a villain! I'm not as stupid as I look like!' he snorted, feeling quite underestimated.

And so felt I, after calling me something as stupid and unrealistic as a 'villain'.

'Listen. If you want to find yourself a 'villain', try watching some movies from the guys who love to waste money on producing touching stories about plate-eyed, adorable little deers, or princesses living only for their charming princes. Timothy, even in the Fairy world there is a 'real life.' And I'm just assertive, concentrated on my goals, hardworking and I simply don't waste my time for undeserved mercy. If you call that evil-let it be "evil" then. But don't you ever think I'm one of those wannabes who eat stuff like "Satan-O's" each breakfast.'

My Rose stood there blinking, silent for a moment. 'But why…?'

'Just my current fancy. Take your chance while you can. I may always change my mind and decide to eat grass instead. Or leave a bomb and poof away, just wait and see' I grinned wildly.

'Yeah, I'll go, no problem, but...no bombs, right?'

'As you wish' I said, took out my wand to bring my little black jet.

'Whoa, I bet this baby has got awesome stereo, a DVD player and monitors in the back of the seats!'

'Why don't you take a seat and check it, Timothy? I smiled and watched him run straight to my machine. I think I'm starting to like this place. When the world will be just as I want it to be, I might even be that surprisingly merciful and save this single place. Even those flowers.

Spoiled boys with complexes and low self-esteem-they're just priceless.

Now I only need to think which of my teas I should serve.

Local Lithuanian tea. I probably should apologize the junkie gods for lying. But in some exceptions-"probably" is a synonym of "fuck that".

Whoever stated ignorance is not a bless-only thought he's not stupid.

Or maybe it just was one of the "good" guys.

Good-stupid…It's pretty the same anyway.

Now back to my precious little one.

So little time, so little time for us.


	3. three

Some say that to wait longer for your pleasure is only making it grow bigger

Some say that to wait longer for your pleasure is only making it grow bigger. I see a point there, but this once when I wanted to get to my vehicle by slow, little steps I didn't feel better at all. But I couldn't just jump in there with a wicked smile and a burning blush on my face, could I? The temptation came back when I finally got into my black leather seat and saw him looking emotionally baffled between the joys that this very jet could give and Cosmo, left alone like a game for an ancient console, on who he peeped every two seconds. I leaned on the control pad and glanced at his back while he tried to make a decision.

I knew what he would eventually choose, but it was easier to help anyway, so I scratched where it burnt even harder than I did before. 'Trust me, he's safer here as a green little pipe.' Timothy turns around and looks at me in disbelief. 'On a one to ten scale, how many points in the chances of surviving would you give to unarmed Cosmo confronted with angry villagers?'

'Four, knowing he's immortal' Timothy sighed.

'I'm surprised to know you're such an optimist. Oh, and you can tell his wife when you'll get back, so stop frowning. I don't feel like looking on faces wrinkled with sadness right now .'

Timothy stares at the green point nearby, still undecided, but obviously with his thoughts more on my side as the seconds pass one by another. He just doesn't like the fact that I'm right what automatically makes him wrong.

I'm at a point where the rules of the game are still amusingly simple, if you know how to play it.

Your love is always right. If not-apologize.

'This vehicle can take only two passengers, dear. Just take a look around. Or occupy yourself with the computer to feel better.'

'I guess a one day off from the usual getting almost killed won't hurt me, huh?' the boy chuckled, trying to convince himself to the idea. His eyes were already sure what to do, glowing like stars straight to the little black screen installed almost next to him, like an evil tease to his little heart. And it was a tease of course, a pretty effective one what's most important.

'Seatbelt, Timothy' I said when I already had him absolutely into browsing whatever it was to check there.

My boy did as I said, finally looked into my eyes when I got the engine started and the little jet slowly was raising up towards the flawless, blue sky.

'A fancy.' He stated with a slight, but noticeable mockery in his delightful voice. 'I hate lies and liars, Anti Cosmo. If your "fancy" as you've called it includes a nice atmosphere, just tell me what on Earth is your reason for taking me out of Bulgaslatvia!'

My, child, you're so powerful I can't resist a smile and a laugh. How could you make my face wrinkle so badly in such a horrible expression!

'Lithuania.' I make a correction just to annoy him more. Pity me for a fool and a poor man I am, being hopelessly addicted to my rose tightening every muscle on his face in little childish anger, so pure, so true and momentary. The beauty of the view of my rose, showing his little thorns, trying to convince he can kill me in a glimpse but he's just too kind for my contemptible ass.

So I want your mercy now, dear. The thrills I get only from looking are yet peaceful as kittens, but their destiny isn't to be under control forever.

Still, kittens must be fed and taken care of to survive.

Dead kittens. No one likes dead kittens. You'll understand, love. I must torment you a bit more, but in the end you get all me and all my kittens.

As for a leader and a strategist thoughts of you are a danger to the clearness of my mind, thank god I don't have to care of others' suspicions and I can kill off bugs freely. It would make a problem if I were a dog. A fairy, that is.

It's such a relief to know I'm not a madman. I'm just determined and conscience-free with every step I take.

'And' I went on, laughing 'taking you out, Timothy? Didn't this mentally-wanded sunshine or his wife told you yet you should be careful what you wish for? Oh, I'm sorry, I think random European location and you combined should be enough for an answer to me'.

'Europe seems nice' the boy stated in defense.

'It does indeed. But back to your amusing question, "Mr. Want" -I owe you something, all in all you've set me free twice. Willingly or not, you did. And the rest of the story is truly just a whim of mine, one of millions I have'.

'Those whims make you go closer to being a fairy godparent, who would guess?' Timothy grinned like the little bastard he is, almost exploding from the happiness the 'thought-to-be' insult brings him.

'The truth is, I'm actually much better than a mere fairy. Only, you don't see a anti fairy godparent too often nowadays' I smile and act as if I already said everything I was meant to tell.

It just makes more pleasure to see him asking the questions. The lesser he knows, the more he wants to reach, and to achieve he has to stay by my side. And soon, he will. He'll be longing for it as much as I do. We are so alike. Timothy can feel it and it makes him uneasy.

And it makes him stay away from me because he doesn't know me yet.

He can only see the contours of the faults we both share, drawn with a thick line in black coal. The rest is still blurry.

But, my rose, I can read you like an open page in a book still wearing the smell of freshly printed ink, so new and yet untouched. I shall be your reader, your reviewer, your pen and your author.

If you only knew you already are a masterpiece dozens times better than Nabokov's. One day, I'll tell you. One day, you'll want me to show you.

'Maybe you don't see any because there's no such thing as an anti godparent, huh?'

'Which is because most of the antis is locked as you already know?'

We may play question for a question game if you really want to, dear.

'If that's true-and it's not!-then why are there both fairies and anti fairies?!' Suddenly he stops shouting and starts to laugh 'I can't even imagine you in a fishbowl! Seriously, what kind of a fish would you be?'

'I'd be selfish' I laugh back and wear my favourite smirk.

'I thought more of a piranha' said my little rose and delicately sighed.

'Why? Do you want one?' All the innocence I ever gained in my life so far, I've used it for this little question.

Timothy blinked. 'But I guess selfishness fits you perfectly anyway.' He decided to say in the end.

'Thank you dear. But not as much as it fits you.' I smiled a little. 'In fact, you look in it better than in your own skin. Or maybe it truly is your skin, blue-eyed ?'

Gee, I wonder why in the very second his face evolved into a grimace of shock and hurt it never shown before. It has to be this cruel misjudgment of mine. But perhaps it is the most sensitive spot? The one even you are afraid to touch, afraid of the pleasure you don't understand yet?

So terribly hurt I feel more than sorry.

Let me lick the wound and kiss you goodnight on your troubled forehead.

And the dreams you will have will torture you more than I did, but in the morning I'll help you make everything alright, so you will understand you're not feeling _hurt_ when touched, but this is how feeling _good _looks like. And that's what selfishness is. It's feeling truly fine. It is the real human nature, which I have no idea why is said to be 'inhuman'. But, setting away the sarcasm. I do know why. I do know who was the first one to say so. And it was no human.

Just a soured man with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and cold feet.

A figure everyone has seen at least once on a postcard or something similarly cliché and poor-tasted.  
The deity who makes the world go round by humping it constantly, thinking he's 'oh my God'.

And he is, bloody bastard.

"You're just trying to insult me 'cause I've caught you on telling a obvious lie!' started Timothy after regaining his thoughts on the sensitive topic.

'Oh, now did you, princess?'

'I'm not a princess! And I-!' he started to rant, but suddenly something unexpected shut him up for a few seconds, so he could freely stare in shock and dive in his growing little anger. Gosh, was it me?

'…And I totally think I look better in navy blue, though unluckily most of the dresses I'm forced to wear happen to be pink.' I finished in a dramatic voice, smiling both wildly and widely, playing with my wand which I just used to get a lovely, sleeveless dress my boy could wear.

And my, he is so pissed he looks like the wrath of the God almighty,

'You did that again, darn it! Stop making a fool of me to get away with your lies! You always change the subject and strike when you're owned! '

'So do you, my midnight sky' I snapped back.

And no, you are 'owned', my dear.

'Whatever.' Rose sighed, absolutely powerless after his explosion.

'This means the outfit is not the problem I suppose?'

'No!' he shouted absolutely enraged and put to the very edge of his nerves.

He's probably having a sore throat because of that.

'That's splendid, Timothy. Now when I got your full attention, may I finish what I wanted to say in the first place, so you could see the whole picture?'

'Yes.'

'Well I'm glad to hear it, I really started to have a serious doubt you'd ever let me finish. And I've got a really interesting fairy tale to tell you.

'I'm all ears.'

'You see, it is said that in average, a fairy is more powerful than his counterpart. I'm not sure if I'd agree on that though. The fact that they can legally use their magic 364 days a year when we get the one that's left-doesn't automatically make them stronger. And putting us in a lower position doesn't make us worse. Think about it Timothy, why do you think anti fairies are always kept locked or being chased by the fairy law?'

Rose shut himself down for a while, to wonder in his thoughts alone. He must have finally noticed that some things are taken as obvious only because there is no good answer for all the questions that might have been asked.

Why, oh why is being an anti fairy illegal?

'Is it because you bring bad luck and make wrong things?' he eventually answered, still unsure why I asked therefore being more suspicious.

'And what is bad luck? What are bad things? What is good, Timothy? Would you know the difference if everything was the same? Would you worship life if you couldn't die?'

'So, that's why you have no respect for life as a value? Because of your immortality?'

'Big words, little one. I hope you feel responsible for your words for we're about to discuss this issue later.'

'We should' he said, absolutely meaning it.

Fine.

'But, we got off the topic again. Such a juicy and delightful conversation. Still, first things first I'm afraid. I assume that those were the only reasons you have found? No wonder. There was no logical reason for it. There was a caprice, automatically followed by an absolutely legal order. And I don't feel pretty much like the princess of pop or anything like that, but everything was because of my humble persona.'

'More light to your mystery, please?'

'Around ten thousand years ago, a certain overgrown kid wanted to get something beautiful, perfect, eloquent, genial and mostly something…someone who would love him as blindly as endlessly. Something like mixing breeds and features to get a perfect lap dog or a kitten that would live in pain with too short legs just so it wouldn't jump around precious furniture. And this way, I was indirectly brought to life. And the way you got your Cosmo –if you were ever interested. Being a by-product of something close to perfect, that explains pretty much doesn't it?'

'I'm seeing you so upset I don't know what to say…and Cosmo…I…'

'Well I'm not upset.' I stated, well, upset.

'I've heard your tone AC.'

'Don't try to care, sweetheart. You're just trying to distract your attention from thinking about Cosmo's fate even he doesn't know about. No use, it will come back to you anyway, I promise.'

'It's not that it even left, anyway' he sighed. 'And not that it ever will'.

I nod and look him in the eye. In my own, he now can see true understanding. For this very moment he felt even that was quite enough as for an affection.

Of course, I could give him the amount I thought he needed, but for the Rose, it wouldn't make any sense at all. Still there is a lot of water meant to flew before anything can be done.

And I'm trying to do my best to make this happen faster.

'I know.' I said, as calmly as I should now. 'I understand'.

And I did.

'I think…I think I have to know everything now…I guess that would help me, him, you…' he decided.

'That's a one good guess, I guess.' Was my reply.

'So tell me.' He demanded, staring at me with deadly seriousness in his blue, suddenly and sadly paled eyes.'

I cleared my throat an started after a moment of silence. 'But it was as true as obvious, I simply couldn't be both a walking intellectual revelation and a pleasurably obedient dog, even the best breed –ever one there could be, but blind to certain features that equaled the worst type of idiocy that might be found. So, eventually I left what I was given and decided to be a bastard after all. And boom-here's your cereal of revolution diet for the next forever, including now.' I took my time glancing at him, as he was blinking, obviously not understanding much. And as for now, that was also one of my points.

'Some antiquity originated boobs just can't deal with rejection. Still, they can disguise themselves with it perfectly. So perfectly even wars and slavery passes through unnoticed. You know, dear, they say "love's blind", but the other side of the story is that it also can dazzle it's victims.'

'A war came unnoticed through Fairy World? How?!'

'That's probably the blood loss, it can make the vision go all blurry.'

'Gee, I didn't notice it's time to play House's sense of humor already! Ah, the time is flowing so fast.' Timothy snarled. 'Just for now, give up that over-sarcastic chap, this once I'm serious. And I'm hardly eleven. Respect it.'

'I am serious, and I do respect your seriousness and sarcasm is fun.'

'But I don't want fun now!'

'Neither do I, but we both need it.' I stated firmly.

''Oh for Gods' sake!' my boy sighed painfully and heavily.

It's amazing how fast can worries and stress make a child act like a forty-five year old nag, with all the pantheon of Gods and their sakes included.

'Timothy, a God's sake is the worst shit ever! That's what I'm actually trying to tell you! It all happened because a God wanted something impossible and got extremely and endlessly pissed off, when he finally noticed, that his own wish couldn't be granted. He yearned for revenge and he thought he would get it by giving a bad name to me, and all those "still too imperfect" beings he created before me, by condemning us to bringing all the worst things to the worlds and the worst things only, so everyone would hate us and treat as foes. And when he noticed, he didn't touch me with that, he created his rules made of absurd, just to never let me achieve my happiness and fill my destiny. Eventually came the time when he understood I will seek for what is mine, he ordered imprisonment for all the "sub-fairies". And Timothy, you set me free and didn't care to put me back there this once. I might have said that he cannot sleep peacefully now, but the truth is the bastard never had a peaceful sleep. Almost ten thousand years and I still can't decide whether is it some odd, half dead conscience, or too much caffeine…Oh, and excuse my French, I shouldn't have said "shit". And now I've said it twice, oh joy.'

And the Rose stood there, hardly breathing, with his eyes as big and as wet as a lake, with his little fists violently tightened and shaking in growing, unstopped fury. The fury of a child, who couldn't stand the true evil once he faced it. And the last drop to the goblet of his holy rage was the fact, that the pain he heard about was unnoticed and uncared of, just like he himself was, and just as was his own pain of the orphan of the world.

'Who…who is he? Who are you talking about?' he finally whispered with his voice trembling, as he would be afraid of getting any louder, in case he could explode in his wrath.

'I'm afraid it's not safe to tell you yet, little flower.'

'What can you be afraid of? You can't die!'

'It's not about me. And speaking of death-everyone can die, if someone interested in bringing death is determined enough.'

'Stop changing the subject and tell me!'

'I can tell you something a lot better than that…'

'I wish you could.' He said, giving me the impression of being dispirited to the bone.

'The advantages that I have, as an anti fairy. You may consider your wish granted.'

'And how is that?'

'Shush, hold your horses, lady! When you go to my dog house, you get nothing for free just like that!' I gave him a malicious smile and his body replied with delicate goose bumps showing on his naked arms. 'Do you remember the part of our conversation about the value of life?'

'The tone of your voice gives me the feeling I think we shouldn't talk about it…?'

'That's rubbish you're telling me now, why shouldn't we?' I innocently asked, and reached the steers to control the jet in person.

I materialize a heavy brick, and stare deeply into his eyes while placing the object to the gas pedal. Shortly the machine is on its full speed. Timothy is full of worries.

It's funny how everyone says that in the movies or books-they love the madmen the most.

But when the assholes get lucky to face one, or what's funnier-to hang out with such a chap for a while, they change their minds. Love. It can be so short-lived it's just amazing. Everything because the dandy foreigner evolved from intriguing to scary.

'Do I want to know what just came to your mind or is it another thing I'll be sorry I asked?'

'Fear not, the dead feel no pity.'

'What?!'

'You see, you were searching for some odd 'sucking-points' in our little talk, and I'm just wondering, may that be that we both just strive to find them? But, you must know that this was your cloud nine. And now baby, were just going down. Having the urge to ask "where" yet?'

'Not sure. Not sure. I'm not telling you anything anymore, ever.' He almost whispered, just to continue at the top of his lungs 'Just tell the idiot dancer in your head to give up on sick plots like this one!'

I depart the steer from the rest of the death machine I just made and I hand him all that's left from it. Hello no control, goodbye my jet insurance.

'This is your captain speaking.'

'Having fun?!'

'Our destination for this flight is: the point where-it-really-sucks.'

'I was only ten just two months ago!'

'Today's menu: death, two fatalities, the sense of life, agony, and peanuts.'

'There are so many things I was still meant to do! Like, not-dying-now for an example!'

'Please smile and relax. On the front window you may see the interactive spectacle of the year: "Curiosity killed the cat" by Timothy Tiberius Turner and A.C. Havoc-Ismade. Please notice, that crying your eyes of may cause problems with good visual reception of the masterpiece.'

'When we'll get outta this, you'll be sorry!'

'Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say anything?'

'Why do I always end up with psychos.'

That's called a fetish, sweetheart.

'In case of any problem, ask our sexy stewardess, sadly at the moment I'm busy with watching the jest lowering to eventually crash in Nevada.'

'What stewardess?!'

'Here's a hint: I'm not wearing a dress.'

'You nut!' He shouted, probably not even being aware he had a face like a thunder.

'Peanuts? You know, I'm just asking, because the rest of the menu is compulsory, while here you have a choice. So, peanuts?'

He decided even not to look at me anymore, so he tries the main window instead. And he notices the doom is at the reach of his hand. And something just broke in his mind, I may even say he lost the sanity he had five seconds ago calling me names. He starts to shake like a dying animal in convulsions, spasms fill all the cabin. No, not cabin, all the sky we once were in. Now it's mostly a dessert ahead.

He can't look, he's falling apart and falling into my arms, sticking his wet face to my chest, praying for salvation in the ancient language of tears.

Three…

Two…

One…

Earth.


	4. Tea Coffee Junkie

IV

IV

Tea. Coffee. Junkie.

This rare moment, it could last forever. Rationally, nothing of value would have been lost if the head of the jet would repetitively brush mother Earth, replay the millisecond of the first hit endlessly. No one would even notice, fuck the time continuum, I'm in every way above it and it's silly rules, higher than me is where the child is-shaking violently, choking with tears yet calmed down with the fear and hopelessness, which all combined made him curl into my chest and fade away so silently even his sobs would came by unnoticed by everyone but me. For love may be so bitchy it can hear everything if it only wants to. Now, I am the pleasant aspect of love, playing with death makes it so warm and comfortable to wear inside me.

It must be remembered however, that the world, life, love and all the other funny things we tend not to care about until we suffer the fear of incoming death or the pain of a horrible loss, are by no means based on rationalism.

This may not be as exciting discovery as learning new letters of the alphabet would be, but it's all about emotions, and more specifically-experiencing things.

And holy cow, isn't love pretty in short supply these days?

Lacking it can end with way much more entertainment than a pain in the ass when someone's an addict.

It's like God trying to exist without himself, either he made himself or have been there forever.

Paradoxes make people go paranoid.

The God of love without his insignia can get a little pesky, now can't he?

But, what to him seems to be just a bit more than annoying all those who may have something to do with his divine misery, for the minor cockroaches may be slightly lethal. Not to mention a situation when the main cause of his rage is on the target. In this case, death is too simple and finally turns out to be a pleasurable solution and mercy, which shall never be given.

Therefore, time didn't warp and the story of the crash went on, followed by a pair of sky-blue eyes, filled with an ocean of the primal rage and desire of domination.

I pulled certain strings, so would the archenemy master of puppets.

Is it a mastermind of moves or a simple cowardice, when rivals like the two of us always fight with bodies other than ours own?

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He left the burning remains of what once was his precious machine with a smile on his face, absolutely absent to this place and the crash itself. He didn't even smell the smoke as he passed by slowly as a child filled with anticipation, subconsciously enjoying every single step he took.

For there was one thing only that the man was aware at the moment: the fragile miracle he finally held in his trembling hands. While he walked he admired every inch of his Rose's face. He would smile seeing a cry-forced blush on the boy's face, he would melt into his own heaven looking at the skin gleaming with salty tears and oh, how he loved them, how he loved the salt and how he wished he could taste it, lick it off, pet the delicious delicacy with his lips, bring his child into peace, heaven and subtle sensual ecstasy .

And he would die, inhaling the scent of constant life misfortune his only love always had around, he would breathe with it like a nicotine cancer addict, he would keep it in his blood and worship it, he would die slowly, wanting it, needing it, coughing with it, vomiting and eating it again, he would call himself a dog, but he would love it because he finally would have it inside, not to ever let go.

Still, he would get resurrected by his own monstrous jealousy that anyone could get to his little spoiled angel, to his soon-to be creation, that someone could see him, smell him, touch him, tell him _lies_. And then a great part of his soul would spread around the world, put people on fire with his gaze, kill them, dismember and torture them slowly so they would learn their lesson not to touch his Rose.

All of this was happening at once as he marched through the solid ground nowhere that lead to his lair, his hideout and his only home, the home that had the odor of black roses floating in the excuse for air he had and have been breathing with. Until now.

Now, he had his oxygen, life, death, meaning, orgasm, his Rose without a crown, his vulnerable little Prince and the spreading baobab of his own doom. He had everything. He had it now and just for now.

He knew he'll have to give it all away shortly after the sunrise and he will fall on his knees and choke, with his body arching, shaking painfully in delirium, lacking all he needs to go one once he got it.

Anti Cosmo's eyes smiled though. He knew also that the state of dying is meant to be temporary. He'll come back for more and he will get it, and one day he won't have to seek, for his love will come to him all by himself lead by his own love. His love to Anti Cosmo.

The man shivered at the thought, he felt the electricity coming down through his old, tired spine, stopping at his loins to make there long, slow, arousing and yet painful circles and there was no way for him to relive the aching that brought him close to losing the very last remains of his sanity.

He tried to convince himself it would be madness to stop and waste the precious time no matter how much pleasure it would bring.

In his thoughts he said that this would be an unforgivable sacrilege.

Eventually, an absolutely different argument made him go on and bite his lip almost furiously: Timothy could wake up.

But those kittens made of needy thrills did not listen, just like real cats never do. They brushed slowly against his mind and body, they purred deeply and begged him with big, shiny eyes for just one stroke, hoping to get more afterwards. And no kitten may fall back to sleep unattended, discontent and anxious.

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

What once was just a delicate paw of harmless, always to be dismissed fantasies has shown it's needle-sharp claws. And the vampire fangs the man tried to threaten them with, brought absolutely no reaction.

"It's hard to just fucking walk, because-nomen omen I'm fucking hard." He snorted silently to himself, feeling the irony was so thick he could cut it with a knife. Oddly, this very once he didn't find his own joke funny. More likely he felt like bitch slapping himself for this stupidity. And if he had one more hand, he really would do so.

There was one God who knew how many "fucks" the well-mannered Fairy spat out in his mind all the way he went.

That God loved to listen to it more than he would love his mother if he only had one.

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The boy's lids seemed to him quite heavier than they always were, but his body was determined enough to open the eyes anyway. Having them partially opened, he registered only darkness, which in his current state was nothing abnormal to him. It took a moment before he noticed being in motion. Slowly, he gazed upwards and saw there a slightly burned and blood-spotted collar of a shirt, a similarly toned neck covered with dried blood, and at the highest his eyes could reach at the same time, there was a little bit sharp lined jaw. Subconsciously acknowledging the view, Turner looked again, only putting more effort into the action so he could get a wider field of view. The darkness happened to be a dark navy vest and the jaw was actually a part of a head, that some part of him recognized, even though not being clearly awoken .

So, there was a man and he was being held and he surely was somewhere.

That picture made perfect sense…or he didn't know. Still, it unquestionably made something.

Something is always something.

…or something.

His attempt at deducting made him exhausted again. Somehow, there wasn't much of strength that he had then. He couldn't tell why was he so weak though. Timmy closed his eyes again to gather all what was left of his consciousness supplies. Neither he was happy that the man didn't notice his awakening nor was he afraid of being in an unknown place, completely immobilized, vulnerable and being held firmly by someone else. Whatever the situation was, and whatever have caused it in the first place, everything that was happening now as it's consequence was absolutely obvious to him. Just like two plus two made four-it just did, and it was right. Nothing to ponder about. The same was with his situation, he thought. Everything was on it's place, he couldn't tell why, but he simply knew it, and that knowledge was encoded so deep in him, as if it was a primal instinct he was never aware he had.

He knew, because…he felt safe. Not that kind of safe, where cars wouldn't hit him, Vicky torture him, where was no deadly wish that went wrong. Simply, he was safe, in some kind of inside-safety he couldn't define no matter how hard he tried. Could it be ultimate goodness and inner peace he has been blessed with? Without being dead, and what he considered to be even more unlikely-in Heaven?

That made no sense…but he knew, it made something again.

Was it a different thing, or just a continuation of the first unnamed sensation?

Did two somethings make everything…?

He couldn't tell. And remembering how he sucked at math, he gave up on finding the answer.

After the short analysis of his closest surroundings, the boy let himself really lean into the grasp. Everything in it was so welcoming, even the slight scent of a sweaty body and a perfume combined soothed him, feeling so familiar as if they have already calmed him in the past. As relaxing was the skin texture of those arms that held him so tight, the same peace brought within the sound of tiny rocks, being crushed under the weight of the man and the strength of his steps.

It was all natural, it was all safe. He was safe, really safe. Now he have realized everything he experienced so far and dared to call it safe, wasn't even close to the definition. He was never safe.

And suddenly, he was, and he was obviously on his way somewhere. Timmy would like to know the destination, because Timmy always wanted to know everything. Not that he cared then. Anything would have been just fine, just perfect. He opened his eyes again, this time keeping them open widely, so he could scan the whole figure. As he did so, he realized something and his previous question left his mind not to ever come comeback, because now he had one thing only that he had to mention for some unclear reason.

'Hey' he began and noticed the blue-skinned guard of his reacting so fast and intense as if his voice itself killed with high voltage. And then he just stared at his face, trying to understand what just happened. Timmy didn't know either. 'Now, you look twice as dandy as you always did, man' he said, not really caring about relating his words to the current situation. He just was done. And tired, very tired. The man's face expressed dozens of mixed up emotions, but none looked negative. Timmy was sure, he would let him rest if he needed it. After all, he wouldn't do him any harm, just wouldn't. Timmy faded away to sleep, being absolutely sure that about this moment of bliss he would never forget.

But he did.

Timmy left Anti Cosmo the genius mastermind of evil dumbfounded like an actor hit with a random brick in the middle of a play…or at least it was the closest comparison he could think of.

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Such words were definitely close to the last ones Anti Cosmo would have expected to hear from his little one right after regaining consciousness, even considering the possibility of the boy not being all that conscious he might have looked like. Standing there, confused to no end, he tried to figure out any possible connection those words could have with this world, or any other world for that matter.

The power of the impact when his flawless mind has collided with a riddle he just could not solve, made the man return to the hated reality, and the awareness of it was rather unpleasant to say the least. He felt like he would just read one of those black on white signs, stating either something obvious and distasteful or a phrase that created a picture of the thought while analyzing it for maybe a second, but still to be enough to make a face curl in disgust. The real life was something that the anti Fairy has always put close to "you are now thinking about raping your mother".

Willing to confront with it and all of it's monsters, he took a look around and noticed a very distant line of smoke aiming to the sky, the hotness and soreness of the air, his own clothes being severely damaged and some of his blood dried on his shirt and skin. Realizing he must have gotten injured when he crashed the jet, in an instant he got hysterical and managed to check if nothing had happen to his precious love. While trying to focus on the details he also had to acknowledge that his monocle was now something he had to get over with, because it wasn't like he was ever getting this one back, and that only meant his vision had to stay not to be trusted for a while. But he didn't care at all, the only part of his life that currently mattered was the fact, that the power shield he put on the boy right before they violently hit the ground had worked perfectly and physically, his Timothy was fine. No single petal of his Rose was blown away by the jealous wind, no bruise have been made on the tiny crown of his little Prince he loved above all things.

Just some pieces of the torn, dark blue dress the boy was wearing flew playfully on the wind. Anti Cosmo smiled, in his own manner tenderly and managed to change the little Angel's position to a more comfortable one, so he would hold his Timothy more like a beloved bride than a fatality victim. He sighed contently, softly caressing the hot and fragile cheek and he noticed a tiny bit of white down right below the worshipped lips. At the same moment he took a glance on his own outfit and saw his vest covered lightly with the same thing. He realized it came from those flowers he have been laying on earlier, but he couldn't remember the name of that annoying weed. The sudden answer pierced his heart like a dagger when the understanding came along with the name, bursting into his head.

Lustfully, lovingly, needingly and stalkingly he back then was spread in the sea of high grass, on the islands of dandelions.

Nor was he cold or frightened, his body quickly covered with goose bumps as it was blessed with an overwhelming, unstoppable wave of shivers, making his tentigo in retreat strike him again not to go away. His body told him to moan, groan arching for alleviation to this ache, but this very once in his life, his mind even for a moment did not succumb to the urge and the man only snorted, for the first time ever, showing his body nothing more than pure contempt, as if it unfairly tried to stop him from making his grand plan come true.

And there were still long hours of road to get through until he would reach the end of his way of the cross for that day.

His face muscles twitched slightly as the sweat ran down his wounded skin, but he perfectly knew that flying in this area wouldn't do him any good. He marched on, forgetting again about all the pain as he thought about his future reward, paid in dandelions white and gold, with passion and pleasure and all he could ever think of. He knew he would get it in the end.

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He woke up again, this time I knew he was truly awoken, because nothing was left of his previous calmness. Now, he was piercing me with focused eyes, deigning me with a glare of a mad killer swimming in the holy wrath.

'You're not a genius, you're simply out of your mind, whatever it once might have been!' He shouted in the same moment he was sure he got my attention. 'What were you thinking?! Have you even did any thinking stuff by the time?!

'Well of course I have, child! I've just expanded our conversation to make it more interesting and realistic. It turned out perfect, didn't it?' I replied.

'Oh yes, it was a perfect shot, if you don't count the fact that later there was no conversation once you've lost your head!'

'I'm afraid I have to disagree, Timothy, the last part was the greatest and most informing. Nothing tells as much about you as your cry.' I said softly.

'I didn't cry!' He burst out, his face going red, raging with shame and fire. 'How dare you even-!'

'Oh yeah, I forgot that it were my tears that gave the shape of your wet face on my vest' I frowned, killing Rose's outburst just by the way.

'Enjoying your time trying to break me and kill me?! Are we going back up there for another fun ride or must I buy a ticket?!' He was close to crying again because of his hopelessness, but now he could control his emotions as he was definitely safer on the ground now, or at least he must have thought so.

I groaned in anger at his ridiculous statement.

'Darling, really. Dozens of things I have done and I will do in my life, everything or anything, but killing you.'

'Oh yes' he said in the most vicious voice I have ever heard, and it must be said, I've heard a lot of confessions of hatred, and nothing made me feel as if venomous snakes were curling on my womb, biting into it and laying their eggs in the bleeding holes. I saw it in my precious boy's narrowed eyes, he desired to summon those snakes, even if he had to kill off half of the world in order to do so.

Oh, how I love him.

He makes me sick, that's how I yearn for him.

I adore him so, every little inch of both his body and mind.

I could stay alive only drinking off the hatred from his lips.

This is personal hatred, for me only to get, for me only to see. The rest of the world gets the good boy, gets nothing.

I get Him.

How special he makes me, he'll never know.

'Yes.' I confirm seriously. 'I did not intend to kill you. After all, I'm the one who's bleeding if you care to notice.'

'And I don't' he states firmly, with his voice endlessly offended, while he really wasn't, while his mind was actually starting to ponder, why, oh why was he all safe and sound.

'Then why did you really do that, what for God's sake was so important that was worth scratching off half of your butt?'

Hey, I'm not that concerned with my body as you are, precious. It's too early to measure me with your measure, they're not identical yet.

'I wanted to prove you something worth noticing.' I explained plainly, as if I stated something really obvious.

'Which is?' He raised his eyebrow.

'That if it were your beloved Cosmo and Wanda instead of me on the jet, you would be dead by now.'

Silence. He doesn't even know if he wants me now to tell him why, but I give him no choice.

'The little talk we've had back then, remember? You've never said "I wish" when you wanted the horror to stop. Your dog, I mean, godparents, they would really have to hear something like that just to react, wouldn't they? Still, I was there, you've said none and oddly, nothing had happened to you. You think it might be somehow connected with me being there, having the power and also, having no rules to follow?'

Well, Timothy my love, welcome to your black on white hell of obvious truths you don't want to know. We may just sit next to each other and stare. Can you see me smiling at you?

Or are those naughty letters still blinding you?

I'll help you. So take my hand while it's still clean.

'Put me down' He demanded, as he's gotten fully aware of the reality, with the same type of unpleasant awareness I reached earlier today. 'And you're holding me by the ass'.

'I won't and I'm not.'

'You are. Both.'

'This conversation isn't getting us far, really'.

'Not that I could possibly get anywhere with you, really' he scorned me. 'Get your hand outta there.'

'Unluckily to you, it's still your leg.'

'It's my thigh.' He stated, annoyed and uneasy like a nun in a whorehouse who's trying to announce that this indeed is a pit of disgusting sin, but no one's listening, because everyone simply has chosen to fuck around the walls.

'Which is still your leg. Oh, the world is so cruel.' I mocked back.

And you, honey, you stay in this whorehouse. And you shall get your part of the joy cake, whether you like it or not.

'Put me down then, so we'll solve our problem' he sighed, picturing me as an annoying five year old to take care of.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you. You see, I took you quite far, though you may not believe me, I did, and it's way better than all the possible "anywhere" you could get.'

Timothy stares at like on an idiot, I give him the smile of a quite happy and quite insane bastard I am.

'Dreamland' I simply said.

'Dreamland what.'

'Dreamland, Nevada'.

'Incoming shock, three, two, one' I murmured playfully.

'You what?!' He screamed.

'I nothing. This Area 51. You more quiet. Feeling like grammar yet?'

His eyes have reached the size of plates, as his dream about being absolutely safe have crashed so hard it would make another crater in the base if it only was something material.

'I demand an explanation' he said, while his face discovered a new shade of paleness.

'You don't want one, it's nothing special.'

'Well, will I get it anyway?'

'I live nearby' I've shuddered my arms. 'It's a clean, isolated neighborhood, no one bugging me, no need to buy guard dogs, lots of space and full security for free, so I don't have to fuck with getting any of those suburbian ugly white fences that are supposed to give me the fake illusion of having any privacy make me all that secure, civilized, warm and fuzzy inside.'

'A top secret military base and no one bugging you, how?!'

I rolled my eyes, gave a little chuckle and said with a wicked smile.

'It's a kind of magic.'

'So, you're using magic, but you still can't use some that would let you put me down.'

'That would spoil the fun. Besides, it's really just a few steps away now, be patient, dear.'

'After all you've put me through today, I simply deserve spoiling some of your sick joy, don't I?'

'Is not!' I stated, feeling the offended five year old waking up in me already.

'Is not what' he sighed.

'Sick.'

He looked around in ostentation, annoyance and irony sliding down through his beautiful, boyish face, and sarcastically said 'Oh yeah. Dressing me up just like this, taking me to a place where no one sane can find us, heaven knows why refusing to get your hands off my thigh which I count more like my butt than leg-I have no problem with it all, it's fine and totally legit. Like, yeah, why not, oh wow.'

'See? I knew you'll like it.'

'I was sarcas-' Timothy started, but he obviously wasn't meant to finish.

'Seriously, I'm just a damsel in distress with a constant diarrhoea, so I wanna both act cool and nag as much I can' I interrupted. 'By the way my queen, we have arrived to our destination point. Would you like to leave the carriage now, or shall I call my servants for help?'

'We're nowhere further than we were two minutes ago' he said, temporarily ignoring the insult.

'And you can't tell, because you don't see the red carpet. Poop, I had the feeling I forgot about something deadly significant. My greatest apologies, mademoiselle!'

'Really, stop it. Stop joking.'

'Oh I'm not joking! It's simple, we, uh, go downstairs!' I laughed. 'Allow me to get them' I said, took out my wand out of the pocket and hit the ground with it.

The surface started to vibrate violently, deep bruises appeared and in no time covered the area. Through the lines came out a white, blinding light, which grow bigger and bigger and finally, after destroying the land, a tunnel with stairs made of stone has been revealed.

'Come' I said and put him back on his legs to his own relief. Timothy had no other choice than to follow.

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He was sitting by his desk, watching a screen on the wall with bright eyes. He brushed his pink, slightly wavy hair with his fingers and let the smile on his face grow wider and more wicked as he got deeper in his thoughts into the view, that made him half delighted and half disgusted.

He should be paying attention to the soldiers, he should take care to fix the daily hell on Earth and beyond, but he really wasn't interested as long as his source of power stayed untouched. It's been a painfully long time since he didn't care at all. Painful to him and painful to all those, who were below him. And frankly speaking, who wasn't?

Instead of fulfilling his duties, he would rather to look at his precious one, experiment joy, lust, pain and hate, all at once, and mix his chocolate cappuccino with a red, heart-shaped lollipop from time to time. Every now and then, his blue, shiny eyes would go teary, so he closed them, took out the candy from the coffee and suck it as hard as he could, wishing it wouldn't be red but dark blue, and it would be something absolutely else, that it would be someone, a certain someone.

But all the time, he was the only one that was blue, but inside only. And he kept counting the days, sometimes he even let himself start to cry, but several minutes later, he always returned to tranquility, an he inhaled the scent of a freshly made, black coffee and stared at the abyss of dark liquid. Or maybe the abyss was already staring at him, just like the old philosopher once said.

It was his only half-real pleasure to watch his beloved little mad hatter live, so he felt no shame about abandoning everything else. After all wasn't he also abandoned?

Oh, but he knew he was a stalker, he knew he killed all his previous goals on his path to perfection. He knew he slaughter many lives on his great lovehunt. But he was the stalker in love, he knew the price, and he was love in person, he knew his rights: he could do everything he wanted to. And as for the dead and those who were meant to die, they had to know their place: there isn't any near disappointed Cupid. Sometimes, love hurts. He said that millions of times, through various lips, but no one ever listened. And that was not his fault that no one cared.

Oh, the screen. But it was never enough, how could it ever be enough, so flat, dull, deaf and dead. No way to touch the object of interest, no way to talk, no way to touch, no way to breathe with the same air, no way to taste him, no way to make him suffer.

So he would always eventually show up in person, just like a caring mother saying "goodnight" and reassuring her child with a smile. Just like a rapist babysitter, smiling cruelly, telling the victim that there's always tomorrow to play, turning the lights off and leaving. But always coming back.

He just had to make sure, that his presence was everywhere, no matter what his love thought or did, he had to be there, like a tattoo on a brain.

Cupid was too tired to visit today. He needed some sleep, but he still had to finish his coffee. It made him sad, so he lighted a cigarette, hoping that a few nice drags would help him forget. He licked the tip before really inhaling. He was pleased both by the taste of sugar so sweet it would make many people vomit and by the poisonous smoke mixed with chocolate. That's why most often he kept buying Black Devils, though he always laughed bitterly at the irony of the fact, that he, a pretty much major god, smoked something with such a name.

He knew he was nothing like heaven, but he hated to show it, he even hated to create something that would even make a connection to his less colorful side.

He was exhausted, he was almost always exhausted, but he could never really sleep. But he never stopped drinking coffee, he just couldn't. So he just turned off the monitor and decided to put on some music. He turned on Buddy Holly, like he always did, poofed himself a blanket for his legs and stayed completely motionless in his chair. It was still too cold, and he wouldn't sleep anyway, but he sat there.

Oh, he was always cold.

How everything was terribly cold.

He began to whisper along with the song.

"_It's funny, honey. You don't care. You never listen to my prayer. Maybe, baby, you will love me someday…_"

He still wasn't sleeping.

And everything still stayed cold.

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_Directly, or indirectly have been used:  
"Maybe, baby"-Buddy Holly & the Crickets, 1958.  
"Space Dementia"-Muse, 2001.  
Black Devil is an actual cigarette brand.  
The philosopher meant in this chapter is F. Nietzsche._


	5. A Paedophile and his Playground

"_I watch your window,_

_I shake so scared._

_Spying from my room_

_With nervous unrest._

_Night after night your fingers_

_Caressing the skin the skin that is so fair,_

_You slowly undress_

_Soon we will be together,_

_Until then, so cold the night…"_

"So cold the night" by The Communards, 1986.

Timmy wasn't sure if he was pleased by finally being put down or scared of what he might find at the end of those cold stairs. But he took the next steps without even blinking. After all, he had nowhere to run. And though he didn't want to admit it, a great part of him was curling from this unstoppable curiosity that always lived within his heart. The experience itself made him feel original, special, one and only. For some reason his godparents weren't enough at the moment. He craved for more of this "Timmy-area only". He just didn't know how predictable he was and that pretty much everything that took place ever since his foot touched the European land, have been perfectly planned, and what's more to it-the plan was based only on what Anti Cosmo knew about the boy.

And oh, how much he did know, a human mind would not grasp it. And even though his knowledge was close to being endless, he needed to know more. Timothy was his only sacred book he lived just to read, and he was the only book Anti Cosmo ever wanted to write, even if his own blood would be the ink. The man would bleed-out with a smile on his face, just not to let the words "the end" happen and close the story. The only story that was significant in his life. So he counted every single step he took, but he forgot right away from the excitement when they both finally faced a great, silver door. The entrance itself gave the impression of a very old one, but frankly speaking, Anti Cosmo knew nothing about the door, he was about to use it for the first time, after all, as a fairy, he never needed any, nor he ever had the desire to walk in like a regular mortal. But this time, he was entering something absolutely new-after a long state of exhausting numbness, apathy and dying even as he used to refer to it, he was about to reborn himself. No, not that even-he had to correct himself-he felt and grew like a newborn.

There was always a cold wall.

Now he could see and touch a door.

And he could open it.

Behind it was life in it's most pure form. For this very once he was about to live.

He wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be alone and he would even turn the lights on and make a home. Lights would be on, there would be a day. Not the night anymore. And he would have a day there, underground, so eventually, maybe his eyes wouldn't burn with tears and pain when he would see the daylight anyplace else. It would be fine, because he would get used to the sensation.

So he had to open the door, obviously.

A door is always a solution.

A door, because no matter how hard he might have tried, simply he couldn't get into the dimension of light and life without it. One could ask: why was that so?

But, how do you 'open' a wall? How do you get through it without destroying it and the safety and isolation it gave when necessary?

Simply, you get a door. And you turn an obstacle into a way out of the problem.

The irony hid itself in the fact that if not for the simplicity of the idea, he would find it much faster, the obvious things he did never even consider.

They both just stood in front of the entrance, Anti Cosmo drowning in his thoughts on the topic, and the Rose, stood right behind him, blinking stunned ad the sudden stop and thinking, why was his host staring at the door for three minutes, practically unmoving. Was he in danger again? Why, despite his young age was he able to get this involved in psychopaths' sick plans so often?

Finally, he came to a conclusion that maybe this was why he actually got his godparents, because that kind of events happened to be the best way to make him feel miserable, bitter and sarcastic.

Maybe he was already a psycho too. Now that would explain a lot.

Then again, who wasn't?

In this measure, he was just noticeably above the average.

He was fine with that. After all, no one was really okay.

Well, at least for once he was special without wishing for it.

Were they even going to open that door or what?

It could be easier if he'd do it without waiting.

But it was always better to ask first, right?

Especially when the person beats you on the whole line when it comes to being an unpredictable

loon.

'So, you're going to open that door or not really?' the boy asked.

The man blinked when he heard the child's voice. 'I suppose I am' he answered after a while and returned to staring at the entrance.

'Here's my special tip: you won't open it just by looking at it' Timothy sighed, feeling tired again, just by the odd view.

'Yeah, I've gotta…open it, yes'

'Well, will you mind if I do that instead of you?'

'Thank you sweetheart, but I can do-'

Anti Cosmo didn't finish, because Timothy took his hand into his own and pushed the door wide open by what he finally killed the terrifying waiting for the still astounded man.

'Here. We both did it. Satisfied?'

'You have no idea…' replied Anti Cosmo, who now turned his whole attention to his hand which since that special moment he considered a relict. He kept returning to that one breathtaking second over and over again and he didn't notice, that his precious one also stared at something in astonishment. Something completely different, something that was has been revealed in the moment the door got opened. The Anti Fairy's mind, heart and everything was too far away from where they stood, busy contemplating and planning the future even further, but also in the usual situations, the world beyond the wall was nothing new to him, nothing worth really looking at.

But it couldn't of course be said about the boy, whose senses found grasping all the new information almost impossible.

He never breathed with air so filled with almost unbearable, musky smell. He has never seen the sky writhed with night, darker than ink. Sky, where little, black petals fled freely on the fair wind, somewhere above him where he couldn't reach. The place he was in seemed to cry in woe for something that was missing. Timmy wasn't able to tell how, but he just knew it. He felt a great sympathy for Anti Cosmo at that moment, he couldn't understand how the man could live in such surroundings, how was he able to put a smile on his face and laugh, when he, not even stepping in fully, felt completely powerless. The boy thought that suddenly, Anti Cosmo's attempts to free himself, get above the ground, were even more than reasonable, that was completely natural.

The child was unsure whether he should stay or go on. After deciding, that standing like he was now is pointless, without a word he pulled his supposed to be guardian by the sleeve of his shirt and took a few more steps into the darkness. The man had no other choice but going back to the reality, which this once he found pleasant and welcoming. Getting a firm grip on his Rose's shoulders, he marched on forward, forcing Timothy to do the same.

Anti Cosmo clapped his hands and the odd world responded immediately with a bit of light, that was coming out of quite huge glassy bubbles that levitated freely in the dead-dark sky, that now was just dimmed, but at least the surroundings of the two were visible.

Timothy took his chance to take a brief look around, but hardly his eyes got used to the given amount of light, he just stared in silence, as if the time had died. At first, as he entered, the boy thought he was literally nowhere, but in fact, he couldn't have been more wrong. The first word that came out of his mouth after a long minute of bewilderment was "paradise", even though he somehow knew that it didn't fit there at all.

'I'd say, darling, that it's more of a long-time forgotten paradise, won't you agree, blue-eyed?' Timothy wanted to turn back to face his host, but at the same moment he realized it wasn't his behind him where the soft and amused voice was coming from, but the top of an enormously huge solid statue of a noble and mighty man in a chariot, led by six winged horses. The sculptures only took nearly the half of the circus which ground was layered with silver, gold and other worthy ores that made a pattern for the water running in the riverbed made of silver that covered the whole space between the embellishment. The water itself came from a great, cuboid -shaped fountain, that constantly kept shooting out water into the dark sky, giving an impression of a delicate rain. Anti Cosmo was sitting on a top of one of the horse's wings and played with the falling water while giving the boy a welcoming smile, slightly covered with madness quite hard to hide.

The view of the statues, the fountain and sky-high ancient columns and buildings that surrounded the circus would be the most beautiful thing the boy have ever seen, if only everything weren't thickly covered with rust, dirt, weed and fungus, if only the water weren't almost black, spoiled, if only the place weren't rotting like a dead body.

'What is this thing?' Timothy asked, not really being sure if he wanted t get the answer.

'Oh this?' said the man who was busy with stroking contently the stone-made horse's muzzle. 'It's just a sanctuary.'

'Why would you need a sanctuary? Is it a matter of feeling inferior?'

'Oh, seriously Timothy, get over it' the Anti Fairy snorted. 'It's not even mine, it's made for this old chap right there' he said and pointed at the main statue behind him.

'And who is this guy?'

'Is your teacher really stupid enough not to teach you anything worthy at all?'

'You wouldn't even know' the boy sighed heavily.

'Oh, schools these day. I believe I'll have to put some things into order soon.'

'How and why are you going to do that?'

'We'll discuss that matter shortly. Now would you mind if we actually came into my place, because, you know, keeping my guest outside wouldn't be really polite of me? And I got tired of staring at Poseidon just like that, you didn't?'

'So why did you get a statue of him, then?'

'It was just included. I borrowed this place, I didn't build it by myself.'

'Borrowed…?'

'Okay, okay. I took it. Here, have your Atlantis.' Anti Cosmo frowned, just to see the boy's reaction. And he indeed was delightfully shocked with the random news.

'Atlantis?!'

'Well, a part of it' replied the man and shrugged his shoulders, taking the information as absolutely insignificant. 'Oh, my little angel, and while I still remember, there is no way you're going inside my place covered so badly in such a rich variety of dirt and with your clothes this tattered. For it is requested to be dressed properly at all of my parties. Let me now show you the way to my magnificent baths where you can relax and prepare yourself. Oh, and as for the clothing, I believe you'd prefer something less…feminine this time, right, darling?'

This way, the boy had no more time to talk about the Atlantis, as he noted his interlocutor intentionally dropped the topic. He frowned slightly, because he didn't feel like being anyone's and especially Anti Cosmo's darling nor angel, but he decided he'll take all that sarcasm bravely and proudly. On the other hand, he had absolutely nothing against melting down in a hot, aromatic and relaxing bath, just to ease his nerves, this far shattered extremely, even though the evening was still quite young. And the best thing in the whole bathing idea-he would finally get some time for himself only, a break from this run on that spiral of madness that Anti Cosmo pushed him onto.

'I'm not the only one here who looks like crap' Timothy said, hoping to out of his host's sight as fast as he could.

'Why yes, I might do myself some good as well' the man chuckled suspiciously in reply and put his hand across the boy's arms as he walked him to the baths placed deeper inside the complex of the ancient buildings.

Unfortunately, it was another time that day when the delicate Rose was absolutely oblivious to his loving and caring gardener's actions. Notwithstanding his unawareness of the facts, the shock treatment was slowly being put into operation.

"_I know that you know_

_That I'm here each night,_

_Watching and praying the time is now right._

_For me to undress and caress you._

_Until then, I'll just sit here and dream…"_

Throughout the blood and lust-filled centuries ruled by the man kind, many things could be and were said about one of the ancient gods, one who was older even than civilization itself. His picture has been changing along with the evolution of his worshippers, multiple names he was given, but one truth about him has never changed: the original Eros, Amor or most recently referred to as Cupid –he was never a masochist. Indeed, every now and then he was able to enjoy pain, but it was only when he was the one from who the mentioned pain was given to someone else. For he was the father of hedonism and he was also Love, he could not take any pain willingly, but the irony of his fate made him an eternal sufferer. Pain was the last thing the sad deity would long for, but he lived in a throbbing ache, both of his mind and body. And he was feeling it, he was feeling it now, as his face was deeply frozen in a lockjaw, as his cold, teary eyes were piercing the screen on his wall.

The view that his eyes were given were both stimuli for pain and pleasure, but he just hated when they were being mixed. And at that moment they were battling inside of him horribly and viciously, each with the intent do kill the other.

A few long minutes later, the battle was over, but there was no winner. There was nothing, except of his inner fatalities and sense of failure. He wasn't able to watch the screen anymore. The god almighty fell on the wall, hitting the cold monitor with his blushed face, crying, moaning and sobbing in woe, his hands rushing down to his lower body, ignoring the leftovers of his shame completely.

And as he was pounding his body wildly, yearning to find in his manhood the needed relief, bliss and oblivion, he screamed his lungs out, his words filled with poisonous grief.

'Why did the little boy cross the road?! Why did the little boy soil the other side?! Why, oh, why, hadn't he yet died?! My, oh, my, he does need to die!'

He didn't care then if anybody heard his cries, nor he ever cared about that later in his life.

Shortly afterwards, he was done, lying on the cold floor, covered with sweat and other liquids. He was exhausted, he suffered again, in these first moments he wanted to die, but he couldn't even sleep. Many years ago he dared not to close his eyes, being afraid of a horrible loss, even though he was aware he had nothing precious to lose anymore. Eventually, there came a moment when his head denied him any access to the salutary land of dreams and the kingdom of his divine relative, Hypnos.

The room Timmy had entered was enormously large, it's walls and floors all decorated with morning-lake blue tiles, with old gold markings and a golden bathtub with a size of a small pool, already filled with pleasantly hot water and sweet-scented oils. But it wasn't what took most of the boy's volatile attention, but a giant, silver-framed mirror that took nearly half of the wall which Timmy was facing. For some unknown to him even reason, it made him feel highly uneasy, but the urgent need to relieve his nerves and take a bath, especially in this splendorous bathroom eventually won.

Warily, he undressed himself slowly, as if he was afraid someone-his moonstruck companion to be exact, was about to enter the room any second. Timmy, being the misfortunate child he was, got used to odd and unpleasant situations, so just to avoid any, he traced both the mirror and the walls with his sight, searching for cameras or other suspicious devices, but oddly for him-he found none. After a minute or two of fruitless attempts to find a threat, he sighed with relief and stepped into the bath, moaning softly and contently as his weak, tired body confronted with the pleasingly hot water.

What the boy did not know, was that he wasn't the only one moaning, for his secret lover and admirer was watching him freely from an other room, through the innocent piece of shaded glass that happened to be a Phoenician mirror.

He groaned lustfully, and slight thrills could be seen in the mirror on the delicate reflection of his almost fully exposed body, as he contemplated the breathtaking, almost ephebic body of his Rose in full glory, and his mind just flew up to his personal state of oblivion, as he noted all the tones of uncertainty painted on his face, fading slowly into content and relaxation as his Timothy began to feel safe in his joyous bath.

Anti Cosmo's body on the other hand, was also willing to reach it's cloud nine and finally, the man had a perfect way to free himself from what he was holding for long hours. He knew that his own skilled hands were nothing like being there and tasting him, feeling him and smelling him better, but it was all he was able to do now, but even this kind of self-satisfaction was enough for now for his little, unruly kittens, that now ran joyfully through all of his body, giving him shivers, electricity, taking his breath away, making him moan, making him pant, arching his back, forcing him to clench his teeth and bite his lip so hard he bled, just to make him sure he would simply go there for more and scare his fragile little porcelain-prince away forever.

After all he loved everything about the boy, not only his beautiful and brittle form and the innocence here to take away.

Everything.

Everything.

Oh, his sweet little petal.

He was everything.

And he, he was the mad gardener, who was howling to his close, yet distant Rose, as the wolves howl to the Moon.

Outside, in the decrepit sacred Poseidon's garden of Atlantis, the wind was wailing and blowing wildly, brushing away to the black sky all the long-dead leaves, making them fly, making them dance.

The Atlantis for once in thousands years of bitter sorrow felt fulfilled.

It could be a playground once more.


	6. six

At first, there was Chaos and no civilization. Chaos reigned for eons, proudly, coldly, righteously and with Solitude, standing right beside him, stroking gently his divine shoulders and breathing at his neck with warm, moist air, filled with the scent of a slight feeling of time passing away mercilessly. So Chaos then, feeling the eternal wind of wasted time getting closer and closer to his godly face, have decided to give the empty universe he saw below a last smooch goodbye, by creating forms of legions of bodies, some similar to his and Solitude's and in the final act, he brought his creations to life. When he was done, Chaos finally dared to take his dearest companion by her hand and ask her if she would stay with him forever and create with him new feelings. He hoped with all his heart that loneliness would disappear, and Solitude brought his hopes to life by saying yes to him. But Chaos did not know, just as most beings know now, that a marriage is not a portal made of gold that once crossed would make anyone really change.

Chaos faded away with his precious wife to the backseat of history, oblivious of the saddening truth, not knowing, that one day, he would be alone again. Loner than ever and lost, in the depths of the cold universe and the meanders of nonsense. The eternal pair lived their lives, giving lives-to their children-emotions. All the time, they have been watching carefully their masterpiece of life in the other, little world, looking for something that was not there. But eventually have they understood what was it missing. With a tearing pain they decided to devote their eldest son to that tiny world, so fragile and hopeless like a maggot.

And as they decided, they have sent their son down to that place, which had very little magic of its own. And as soon as he was gone, Solitude had spoken 'Now, when the fruit of or loins fled down to truly bring life to life, he must have a name, so the one who shall seek for him might call him and find him. I have brought him to us by a pain as endless we are, I shall as his mother gift him with an immortal name, and it shall be…Love'.

'Love' repeated the other god, contemplating the sound that the new word made. 'It sounds so unfamiliar, no one will find him nor understand him. Let them, the little ones, find their names to find him and words to describe him. Once he'll reach his destination, fragile beings will know what they are looking for. And with their own names in their hearts, our son shall always be close to them, no matter how distant will he be.'

Solitude slightly hung her head down and let her thoughts float in bitterness that surrounded her. For she have known, what her husband did not, that he was mistaking and trusting too much in his creations. Being blinded by his content life with her, he forgot, that those creatures were imperfectly given a part of their divinity-a part of Chaos, so close to madness and Solitude, very close to pain. And their first son, he was fully made of those. And old god Chaos did not know, that he would be alone again, because nothing really changed. Seeing the gloom in his woman's eyes, he left to get her something that would be the most important in their world, so he would make her happy. Only he didn't know what might it be and his journey has never ended until this day. Time passed and passed even more, then suddenly Chaos understood he was alone. While he was wandering around the universe to find a way back home, he did not know, but his heart was spreading him-chaos everywhere he went to.

But back then, at the very moment he left, Solitude looked down from the sky on where her son was sent to, and she whispered 'But they shall call you, they shall call you the suffering, needing and seeking for something they cannot have, for you my son, are a child of your mother and a child of your father, and this can never change…And you, you will be alone and you will never know why…'.

Solitude took off her long, thick robe and threw it away, down to the little world, blessing it for her son and the maggot world that she now loved three times more, leaving herself because of it naked. Naked, and alone. The Earth since then has been covered by thick loneliness, which took away most of the light, leaving the globe with eternal blindness and dusk. Since then, hardly anyone could find what he was searching for, living in a great heart ache until finding it, for the world was covered with solitude, just as much as a grave is covered with soil.

He made everything ready. The table was set and perfect, so were the black roses laying in the middle of it, with their petals spread all over its surface. And so were his dark blue teacups and his teapot, but on the greatest of gods, was, the slyest soul of the forsaken hearts, was he, Anti Cosmo ready for this little, innocent tea party? He was not, but he would never be as ready as he should be, for each time he thought of his precious porcelain rose, he was becoming weak and mindless as an adolescent, freshly sent to the wild world of dating and fragile romances. But he had to be the one in control of this night. He had to pull the strings and give every word a meaning. Nothing could go to waste, nothing. And as he was sitting on his royal, wrecked armchair, staring at his royal, wrecked roses- the child entered the room. The child entered the room, gracing it with a wary look, honoring his greatest love he did not know of with a shy, tiny smile grimace, mixed with an expression saying "I really should leave, you're a freak and you're probably not letting me go" painted out on his delicate, pale face. His little, slim fingers kept curling the material of his newly given shirt, which, to his personal contentment was, as it should be-pink and unsuspicious. And so was the rest of his clothes, hat included-normal and comfortable. Just as most of the little boys, Timmy felt better wearing jeans instead of a dress. It gave him the little feeling of daily courage he needed, especially in such circumstances when he had no control. The man stood up from his chair, showed the boy a place to seat right next to him, patted him reassuringly on the back and sat down again, pretending to be extremely busy with pouring some tea into the teacups.

The rose finally let go of his already tortured shirt, took his seat in the said place, and while staring at the dark brown liquid, pleasantly steaming in his cup, he dared to speak. He didn't know what he wanted to say, if there even was anything he needed to say, but he was sure he at least had to mumble out a single word or two, so the creepy psycho wouldn't take him for an useless toy, a hopeless little brat anymore. And he surely had him for a foolish kid, thought the boy, presuming from the madman's shameless, evil grin, wide as the Nile in all its glory which kept his face alive, just as the river gave life to the Egypt.

'Something sucks with your bath, you nut.' He began. 'Everything here's too creepy and too British. I want to go. I have enough of this game, whatever it was, you won.'

'Oh, were you playing anything there?' Replied the man calmly, trying to hide his shameless amusement. 'If you don't mind, I'd also like to play.'

' I mean really. Your sick I-don't-know-what scares me. I'm not half dead, not your hostage, you're not ruling the world or making anyone suffer and look what time it is already. If this is some kind of reverse psychology, you have the prize, eat your cake and let me go. I want to go. Can I go now?'

'Boy, you didn't even make a single sip of your tea yet. And besides, you do not want to go, precious. Trust me.' Said the Anti Fairy and went on with staring at his darling's troubled face.

'Trusting you. Why would I' Timmy snarled.

'For it is profitable for you, my child' replied the Anti Fairy with a calm and peaceful tone, matching his relaxed face.

Timothy gave the man a long, bitter stare to express his superiority over his interlocutor and his low morals, and while doing so, he stated 'Not my types of profits, I think. Sorry, you're no good.'

'Oh please, Timothy, it's just too obvious. You are a wise child, you went through plenty of situations more odd than this one, and if you'd really want to, you'd find yourself a way to call at least one of your guard dogs a long time go. Being the damsel in distress you are, held in a deadly scary place against your will by a vicious loon like me, who's currently alone and quite weak because of it, I'm positive that a whole army of Fairies, Jorgen Snakebuttdick included would love to come here in an instant to save you and repaint the walls with my guts. And you know what else? You just feel, how do kids say it now-too awesome, ultra awesome to leave, even your pretty face is standing now for a sign that says so, but your conscience doesn't let you read it, Awesome Boy. The problem is, that being here, is somehow exactly your point, you're seeking for something, and sadly, it's not the level of acquaintance that you might to want to search for it anywhere in my trousers.'

Timmy choked and blinked several times, but unfortunately he was too stunned with the last part of that statement to get up and run away screaming, what he felt like doing at the moment.

'I think that some answers is something that you want. You know, people use to say that curiosity kills the cat, but as you should have already know, as an Anti Fairy I do like cats, and, it's a question of personal taste now, I would never kill such an untamed kitten spirit like you. So, get on with your tea and I'll make at least a part of the horrible fog surrounding your bothered mind go away. So, how will it be?'

Still, the boy gave no reply. Or maybe he made one, if a fearful look into an interlocutor's eyes may be taken as a respond. Anti Cosmo made a heavy sigh, and decided to straight some things out.

'Oh. The trousers part. I was kidding.' He stated, accenting his last word strongly. 'Really, I was. Such a gullible creature you are. Such a naivety, almost lovable I'd dare to say. But wouldn't you like to get rid of it? I might help if you'd insist.'

A minute or more has passed until Timmy decided to open himself and his mouth again.

'Have I ever told you before that I really hate your sense of humor?!'

'Well, never directly in my ugly snout' Anti Cosmo laughed 'but I suppose now you have a perfect occasion.'

'Whatever.'

'No, please, spit it out! Share your story with the rest of the support group'

'I hate your sense of humor. What group.'

'A group hurt with a severe case of bad sense of humor. And by the way it's splendid to hear for us that you hate it.'

'Didn't you just say that you're alone here…?'

' Do I and my genius not make enough for a group?'

'Sure, a psycho army, moran.' Timmy grunted.

'It's moron, you moron.' Corrected the man.

'Does it really make a difference to you, Anti Cosmo, you moron?'

'Oh gosh, no, of course it does not. I simply enjoy bothering you. Nobody said it will be that easy. And please, child, stop being forty again. It doesn't suit you.'

'It might suit you well' sighed Timothy, who, for the first time in his life wished he have been speaking with a normal adult. Sadly, there was no one around to grant this wish. The boy also doubted it would make any sense if he said it out loud, so he did not even bother to try.

Anti Cosmo finished his tea and pointed at the boy to do the same 'It'll get cold, you know.'

'Why isn't Anti Wanda here?' suddenly said the boy, pretending to by busy looking at his little teacup.

'Hm? My wife?' suddenly also, Anti Cosmo started to wander where was this odd conversation going and why. 'She doesn't like this place, not a bit, why then would I force her to come over here? She is, how to put it, something like the I like bright spaces and shiny stuff type. A cheerful woman to make it short. Why?'

'I mean, isn't it weird, if, like, you're married, but separated from each other? Don't you guys feel sad about it?'

'It's less dangerous this way, and it isn't always like this of course, boy. In case you misunderstood some of my words again, I meant life in general, not our relationship. And to be sure, by "our" I meant mine and hers, not this event here. Now, was I clear?'

'And what is this danger you talk about?' Timothy raised his eyebrow.

'Well, other than a top secret military base right above us? You see, flower, my dearest Anti Wanda doesn't have a ocean of friends, fans or adorers surrounding her. It's exactly the other way around to say the least. Those crawling, vicious vermin that I happen to lead, tend to make their victim of her. It's better is she's with someone friendly most of the time. She feels better with it too.'

'Why are they making fun of her?'

The man glanced at his little guest as if he asked either the most stupid question in the world or stated something that simply could never be more obvious.

'Because she's an idiot.' He sighed heavily because of both giving an answer to a question this stupid and the fact of his wife being dimwitted to no end. 'Just like your Cosmo' he added, shrugging his shoulders.

'The fairies don't make as much of fun of Cosmo' said the boy.

'They do. They're just smiling nicely so you don't see it.'

'But I thought you hate idiocy'.

'I do. And your point is?'

'Why did you marry her, then?'

Anti Cosmo gave a short laugh and kept staring into the boy's eyes long enough to make him finally look back into his. 'You don't like wasting your time on unnecessary words, do you?' He went silent for a second, but he didn't really expect his rose to answer this one. 'I did this because I love her'.

'Doesn't look like that to me.'

'Well, and how does it, then? Cliché or not, but love isn't something you describe, it's something that you do. And don't ask why or what for, it's impossible to tell that either. It isn't always the romance thing, you know, pink, fluffy, warm, awesome and kisses. In this case, it's all about protecting her. Such a vulnerable creature, I could not let her live alone, dependant on the mercy of that hyenas, bitches and bastards. This, is the most exact reason of me marrying her. You never really know anything when it comes to love. It's not like that it is blind. Everybody is blind towards it. Maybe I love you. And you have no idea, see?'

A grimace of exhaustion flew down on the little boy's face. He expressed no bigger reply than rolling his eyes and sighing. And all he was given back was a great view on the man's dangerous fangs, exposed fully as he slightly shivered, striking the stone walls with an echo of a sneering laughter.

'Now, would we drop this nonsense talk show topic and the idea of you being my therapist? Now look what you've done to me, I went all Madonna.'

'Brilliant. Now I need a therapy. Then again, even if you meant what you've just said, I wouldn't be surprised.'

'Oh, and why is that so, my love?' while saying that, Anti Cosmo made sure the last words sounded as painfully mocking as it was only possible. Still, he had loads of pleasure just hearing them being said to the boy, no matter their tone.

'Only jerks pay any attention to me and only insane creeps love to fall in love with me. And congratulations, insane jerk, you fit.'

'I'm so happy to hear it, dear. As you're blessing me with your care, attention and sarcastic permission, maybe I shall reward you with something that you would find profitable to you only.'

'Which is?'

'Oh, perhaps sweetie you still do remember that little chat we've had before we've had that quite harsh landing and you passed out?'

On that day, the coldest day in his still quite short life, the young god felt his body shivering uncontrollably just as soon as he opened his mystic eyes from a long, heavy sleep he did not remember ever falling into. In fact, there was nothing he did remember. Trying to wrap his arms tight around his naked chest and somehow fight the new, unpleasant sensation which weakened him terribly, he put lots of effort to open up his mind and find there a hint that would help him understand his position in this newly discovered land he found so cruel. But inside him, there was nothing, no informations, experiences or memories he could call his own. Just three silent voices getting slowly into his brittle skull, like a smoke, weak and faint as his whole soul have been on that day. The first one told him, that there is no order and sanity but his own. The second one told him, that there is no one else around, but him. The third, and the strongest one told him that within his heart he's holding something he has to share, something blazing a fire hot enough to surpass the chill outside and the smoke inside him. And somehow, he knew that those single thoughts in his head, inherited from nowhere were either the poison that would kill him, or the only thing it was fine to hold on and breathe with. Other than that, he was a page as blank as his surroundings were-white, empty, cold and silent. He often tried to speak with that crooked out, naked and thin creatures which kept reaching out for something unnamed in the endless ocean of blue above, but they never gave him a reply, no matter what he tried to say. Later on, when he spent never ended years on that sad soiled world, which has never gotten warm enough for him, he would learn that those were trees and that they never speak to nothing else but the wind. But until he found anything that had a pair of eyes, a mouth and a soul of its own, he just kept talking to his silent comrades, waiting for a reply, and understanding nothing. In those silent days, loneliness, chill and still dimmed insanity waged many battles for the throne and reign over his lost and troubled mind. But he did not bother himself with the inside danger at first, for he strongly believed that he is destined to meet someone one day, a day that he would find happy. After all, how one could be a God, if the object of which the power is held in one's grasp, would not exist? And the writing on the stone that stood right next to where he lied, even though he did not know how come he understood it, it truly said "Young divine ruler of the fires inside you, captive this land of misery and set in on the holy fire of your heart". All his trust he put in those words, believing that this is what he lived for. He did believe, until he understood the truth.

And the bitter understanding began to settle in his heart deeper and deeper as he started to live among the humans once he finally found them. He couldn't tell how much time has passed until the day he reached them. Days, months, years, decades or even centuries? The god completely lacked sense of time whatsoever. He never got himself any later, either. For in his eyes, everything was worthless, including time and space. Seeing through anyone and anything he would only confront in his life, he despised it and loathed to end, knowing, that no matter how much it would love-it would betray, no matter how much it would care-it would kill, and no matter how many times it would use its mouth for wisdom, it would feel the best eating out endlessly the most hidden parts of another weak and spoiled body. As time went by, he began to feel happier sending his sinful, little protégés to hell and of course, watching them die. He simply knew, that they've had it coming. Each of those filthy, miserable bastards, every single piece of shit which was made as the resemblance of the godly ones.

Hatred slowly filled in his heart, torn out by the crimes of his "little siblings". They beat into swords the plowshares he gave them, their pruning hooks into spears. They have turned into poison all the love he joyfully gave them Fire they have taken by themselves.

Until he learned not to care, he writhed in pain every time one man killed destroyed another and called him by one of his countless names, calling him his Savior while he mercilessly ground his victim's heart to an eternal halt.

He scoffed at every single mortal that dared to speak out the word "love". And he had no one around who could he tell how much it hurts. Only empty space, a bow, and two different types of an arrow, one being the twin of the other. Eventually, a decision have been made, that a soul he only could caress and protect, he only could dress up and undress, he only could open up to and show his true face, a soul, he only could love and be loved by, such a pure soul had to be either found or made, and it had to be soon. By that time, if the mankind was only wise enough to have their doomsday clock created, they would have nothing more than mere single seconds to midnight to count down, for the wrath and despair of the blue-eyed god who lived amongst them were untamed, just like the rivers of blood in which humans were bathing their hands a few times too much.

Anti Cosmo stood up from his place, and turned around the chair of his little guest so they could face each other. That sudden change of his poor even without it situation made the boy's eyes reach the size of tiny, porcelain plates, fear forced his delicate and smooth chest wave up and down a little bit faster, a little bit harsher. The slight change in his precious rose's body language made the man burn inside even more, with the fires piercing through his skin, forcing a blush to rise on his face like a distant sun in the time of dawn, because the view of the chest itself was just about to open a new gate of fantasy just for him, a gate, after passing which there is no coming back to the innocence of dreaming. Once the line would have been crossed, his sanity would be lost. He would turn Timothy's silenced gasps into moans so loud all the filthy shadows would hide in their caves, ashamed of what they hear. He would turn the delicately trembling palms of his treasure into lethal clutches with their hungry little claws digging deeply into his thirsty skin. The uneven breathing of his frightened precious child would be just a weak memory, replaced right away with the force of the brittle body arching and twisting for more with the shamelessness of the primeval snake born from the lustful sin he'd share with the boy-his only love and his greatest prey.  
He had to stop his special trip right there and right then, though. He knew it would be a bad one if he'd reach out for his forbidden fruit just like that. Calming down from the little ecstasy was a painful process, but, as he has started another part of his show, he had no time for being even more scary and suspicious, when a bit of trust was exactly what the play was supposed to give him. Anti Cosmo then glanced down, let out a heavy sigh and said 'Fear not my godly little dolly. We are just about to finish some previously started business. There is nothing to shiver your heart about'. Knowing that words were not enough, he smiled at the boy with true innocence on his lips, in this one moment as pure as they would have never been scarred with any nauseating intent. 'Your anxiety will painlessly die as soon as I will share my thoughts with you. May I proceed, Timothy?'  
The terrified little boy let out all the air he kept in his lungs since he heard the first note of Anti Cosmo's sophisticated voice. Feeling endlessly thrilled by the thought of still being alive after doing what he did, he gave the man a short nod, to express his acceptance of the given term. He didn't do that because he wanted to listen to his words. Little Timmy did it because he didn't want to face the discontent of his wicked host. There was something in his eyes just a second ago that made the boy want to cry his eyes out into the anti fairy's chest and beg him "not to glare at him" because it burnt like nothing ever did before. He never wanted to see that look again, and he was convinced he would do anything to stop it from ever coming back.  
'Sure' he plainly said. 'Go on'.  
'You see, you're not the only one here with a quite short attention span if you know what I mean. And, truly hoping that you, my little pal, understand my pain perfectly, I will give you my special offer…my humble person as your very, very special fairy. Oh, look- it is not only absolutely free, but it also rhymes quite pleasurably for one's ears.'  
Timmy Turner was so dumbfounded with that unbelievable offer he even dared to snort at his unpredictable interlocutor. 'This is insane' he said.  
'Why yes, yes it is' the man replied, laughing and shrugging his shoulders. Hiding his arousal which kept wrecking his mind more and more as the long seconds passed was a task hard enough to make him not bother about any other emotions he probably should have taken care of at that time. But he didn't. 'And what difference does it make? You are a boy who got used to talking with inanimate objects, confronting with situations of which probably none of the people you know have ever dreamt of and yet, you feel nothing. Sanity, darling, it sounds silly in your dreamy little mouth.' Anti Cosmo chuckled some more and put a victorious smile on his face, already covered with a fierce blush, matching the mad and quite lustful gleaming in his green, hungry eyes. If he would care to get himself a blackboard, he would surely add himself another point to his score.  
Yet, if Timothy on the other hand would have a way to get himself a fully equipped blackboard, he would stab Anti Cosmo with all the chalk he could only find. Until the bloody bastard would bleed red red blood.  
'And how about a no? I've already got my godparents and I'm fine with them.' The boy stated firmly.  
'Now you are, my sarcastic sunshine. Special or not, time is, I'm afraid, merciless for everyone. Finally a day shall come when you'll get as old as you're actually trying to be at the moment and your guardians will perish for good. And so will your memories about them. Neither of your lapdogs is Cher, there's no thirty comebacks after crossing the line. But then again, when it comes to me, there are no rules. Once I knock at your doghouse, I stay.'  
The reddest of all the red red roses sighed ostentatiously. 'If it was supposed to be an argument to convince me to you, I'd just like to tell you that it sounds more like a threat, so-'  
'My word! I do not have to threaten you, I am a gentleman after all! Oh, and by the way, it's not like you have a choice, mate. Things are settled.'  
'Then why did you even waste the time asking?!'  
'Oh, that. Well, I simply like to hear you speak.'  
Timothy stared and stared, but the Anti Fairy's poker face told him nothing. He gave up, hoping that Cosmo and Wanda will manage to get him out of this somehow. And most of all –soon.  
But, where on Earth were they?  
Were they-his godparents on Earth, even?  
And what's more to it-were "they"-Anti Cosmo and he on Earth?  
Or was he, the little boy, really really doomed in the middle of nowhere?  
Oh, the Rose scented little, little Prince was indeed lost on a dessert, with his crashed down pilot being not only the protector, but also both the madman and the most pathetic and ferocious scum he could have possibly met on his way.  
Still, he was the only friend around.

_"I'd like to sleep one hundred days  
My feeling has gone, flesh cold and numb  
I'm staring into winter.  
All's slowing down, snow in the wheels  
Frost on the ground, ice cuts the seal,  
That opens up old wounds  
That lets in the winter  
Memories and hopes are all that I have  
But are they all I need, will they see me  
Through this winter?  
I'd like to sleep one hundred days  
My reason has gone, flesh cold and numb  
At least let me sleep through the winter."_

"Winter" by The Sound,1984

This night was a bad one for visiting as well. This time, being tired wasn't the matter at all. Rivers of caffeine and loads of cigarettes gave the blue, blue-eyed and blue-balled god even more energy that he needed to go. He was simply in a rage too dangerous to even blink. Going there would obviously equal meeting the boy, and after what he saw last night, killing that little trash would be the first thing he would do right after he crossed the door. No, not kill. Not in a normal way, at least. He needed to hear them both screaming, see them both cringing, crying, breaking. He needed more coffee. He would get one of them down and get one home, right at his side. Every punk in every world would know instantly. It's amusingly easy to get away with thousands of murders, yet it is impossible to pass unnoticed with one little boy's blood dripping from his hands. There is always a good reason to explain homicide. There is never something good enough to reason one death. Knowing this very well, Cupid had no other choice than to stay at home today. He was wild and angry like a fire, like the poor Charlotte Haze from the book he didn't like, he was pissed and mad, just as she was when she found out her man calls her a cow and prefers to jack off to her stupid kid instead. Cupid was a cow, because his love laughed at his face by getting off something so despiteful. Cupid didn't like to be a cow. But if Cupid ran out of the house, just like Haze did, he would be finished, which was worse than her situation, because Haze was just dead and felt nothing anymore. And he, on the other hand, couldn't die, and he had to wait until the fucking morning. Cupid wished he could just sleep it over, sleep everything over. Nobody likes winter if it's forever. And Cupid knew no Summers. He had no Springs, and he only day dreamed of Falls which his precious treasure used to call Autumns when he still was around. Even the gray cigarette dust reminded him of the snow. The stabbing feeling of cold never went away since he fell from the sunny gardens of the loneliness and chaos.  
Still, no matter how cold it was, he had something to do, and it had to be done as soon as possible, late evening was just perfect, it gave Cupid a weak chance to stay unnoticed with his actions. The most painful and shameful sleepless night in ages gave the man a lot of time and motivation to think something out. Luckily for himself, he was clever enough to find a solution to his problem, which was, of course little Timmy Turner, who dared to smell flowers from the wrong side for too long. This had to be changed. He stood up with noticeable effort and flew slowly to the bathroom, where his face met its reversed twin in the mirror which shown him all the winters he's been through. His face was not a face, but an endless dessert of paleness, patterned here and there with small forrows revealing his age and his failure in his chase after perfection. There was also a thin line with its ends falling downward, even if he really would try to smile. He didn't in a while, though. His lips were motionless, the surrounding muscles seemed dead, or at least nonexistent, disappeared after he stopped using them for good. How could he manage to open his mouth was a mystery, and every frown he gave the world was a true miracle, just because it happened. Good old Cupid was lying under the snow. Maybe dead, who knew. Just an old reflection of his eyes pierced through the white grave like two clearest, frozen lakes crystal blue, which once have been as deep as the deadly oceans. Now, they were just deadly, reflecting death in everything they looked at, himself included. So Cupid didn't have a face, maybe there was no Cupid, too. In order to save what was left, the man took some cosmetics from the nearest shelf. He had to, because around his blue, blue eyes there lied a moat of darkness, as if a great part of the snow have been burned out by a great fire. That fire had a name, and it was insomnia. The beautiful god would never leave without a perfect look. No one must not known that he not only was not beautiful, but in fact, he was a broken and repulsive creature. Just like one of those to whom he was supposed to bring curse and damnation. Painfully enough for Cupid, he was perfectly aware of the irony. Next, he had to wear his usual shirt and his lovely, pink jacket to hide all the bruises which lay peacefully on his arms. But before he would do so, he got back to his office and took a nearest arrow he could find in all the mess on his floor, covered with arrows, bandages, vinyls and plastic coffee cups. He then exposed one of his arms, tightened his muscles, grasping his palm into a fist to summon back an unlucky vein which was relatively hidden just to appear again and be stabbed painfully with a needle sharp love arrow. Drugs. Cupid loved them, all of them. But he had specific ones, and the most important of them was the essence of pure love, which he was getting from the mortals, just to give some of it away every now and then, on those rare days, when Cupid would smile on his own and say "I think everyone's feeling lucky today". But the days were rarer and rarer as Cupid's pain grew. On a daily basis he would use the other arrows, the ones which brought only hatred-a not really thought over childhood gift from his divine parents. A gift, that was supposed to be his defense only, but it evolved into a disease, spreading among the mortals, and destroying them like a plague of locust. The love arrows of course, he kept for himself. Sometimes he would use them just to feel better, sometimes to make himself stop trying to die or sometimes to calm down and kill no more for a while. Usually, he used them to look and act normal among others, so no one would even imagine him as a half-dead junkie. Suddenly he felt the needed warmth covering him like a wave from a pleasant ocean, forcing the wrecked part of him to drown like an old, useless ship. Newborn. That's what he was at that moment. Not daring to waste any of his time, he put on his clothes and grabbed the keys to his very own Thunderheart. Using the leftovers of his face, the drugs smiled.

**[Notice. Notices are fun: allusions to literature other than the main theme "Little Prince" used in this chapter: Greek mythology, the Bible, "Lolita" by Nabokov.**

**This chapter have been actually divided in two chapters, because it would be too long to read in one part, not to mention the time that would have to pass until I finished it. Tl;dr six equals seven.**


	7. Seven, aka beggars can't be choosers

**Notice: Remember that this is nothing more than a piece of fiction, ergo complete falsehood.**

**Rated "M" because it deserves it.  
**

Sometimes, all he could think about was getting his Little one into bed or anywhere else for that matter and taking away from him all the innocence and sanity-he wanted to fuck him inside out and give him more, whether he wanted it or not. In fact, would the boy say no, he'd repeat the process long enough until he cried for more, voiceless, with his lips moving too exhausted to make any sound that would resemble anything even close to human. He needed to see the very limit to the extent of how much can a mindless body lead by desire or fear arch without literally breaking in half. He needed to see how many tears there are until there's no more. Sometimes he thought, that he could never get off the fragile body once he possessed it, that he would lay there, purring to its heat and inhaling its scent until he died from starvation.

But there were other times, when all he cared about were beauty and contact, and he'd be sad, that the only thing that people had in mind when touched was nothing more than sex. He'd be terrified that even a child can make such a connection and fear any contact, afraid of getting hurt. And he would dream about feeling the texture of the delicate, pink lips, he would contemplate how his palms perfectly fit for cupping the soft little face, how badly they are made for caressing its skin. He would look with almost sacred thrill at the figure which he wanted to study just for the pleasure of its warmth and flawless esthetics. He would think he could have through it all that is sacred, and he would protect if from any pain and every threat, because he knew that petals are too weak to let them be by themselves. He would fall into freezing pits of sadness, by understanding that everything is eventually fleeting and dying, even his sacred beauty who shall once grow old, forget and die, yet he would stay, untouched by the hands of time and for ever spared by the sword of death.

Timmy did not know any of this, but safely for him and his childhood, it was now rather the latter state of mind in which his generous and hazardous host was currently drifting in. The only thing that he noted during a few minutes of fearful silence, was the facial expression of the man, who suddenly looked older, sadder and weaker for no reason, hardly a memory was left of his former malicious grin, spreading all over his face like a mind infecting disease.

The night fell. The man retreated to his chair once more, just as suddenly as his attitude changed.

Timmy of course instantly noticed the sudden change of his ol' chap's appearance. For quite a while now has he been sticking his blue-eyed fearful gaze to the older, suspiciously sly yet graceful face, and those eyes-big green spheres glowing or even radiating with something tempting, but very hazardous and burning with a desire that was nameless yet to the oblivious, shivering Rose. He caught with his eyes every single stage of the man's little inner agony condensing as a whole through his tired face.  
Every little step down the road to self-righteous damnation of mind-Timmy noted it, he just didn't know what it meant. Neither was he supposed to.

At first, there was this sudden shift in his mind that must have made the corners of his lips slowly sink down toward his pointy chin, dragging along all the tiny wrinkles that were the inhabitants of his face.

Then, the beauty crippling grimace of sadness activated a chain reaction which lead to shutting down those playful lights of desire that used to dance in his poisonously green eyes for hours until now. The lights were replaced with a delicate shade of gray, which spread around the pupil like a thin, shallow moat.

"So, the lights went off. Was the man still there?" the single thought flew into the little boy's mind after a second or two of the silent and scrupulous observation of his awkwardly quiet host.  
Little Timmy was truly dumbfounded at that moment. He couldn't tell whether should he be happy, take his chance and then try to run away, be very afraid because things have gone too awkward and try to run away no matter the cost, or be very, very afraid, terrified even, almost paralyzed and do nothing because maybe things didn't just go awkward, perhaps he was in a great danger and an attempt to run away might only worsen his position, which, already, seemed to be quite a lost one.  
He chose the latter. And he continued to stare at the Anti Fairy, hoping shamefully that soon the bastard would snap out of whatever he had been in, he would come back to his normal, unbearable, yet a bit more predictable self, so he-Timmy Turner, the deadly terrified and unfortunate child, would know what he stood on.

"The sword of Damocles is hanging over my head"-was his speechless comment on the situation. Automatically it was followed by "Suddenly, even dad's stupid musical soundtracks start to sound catchy. This place-no-this man is slowly driving me crazy…"

Timothy scoffed himself for thinking about nonsense in the least suitable circumstances he was ever in. Ockham's razor. Do not create any more nonsense if around you is enough nonsense to kill a horse .  
Another nonsense.. The Rose decided to get a grip on himself and conduct a tiny inquiry. Obviously, just staring at the guy didn't do much. Minutes passed, but they felt and burned like hours. Hours of unbearable, silent madness. Madness, that had to be it, it had to be the factor that slowed the time so much it almost killed it. Assuming, that it is possible to kill time literally. But, knowing his present situation and remembering all of the previous situations he's been in, Timmy would not be surprised if all out of the sudden Anti Cosmo exclaimed that time is dead, because he has just killed the bloody motherfucker. What did surprise him, was that the man still did not say a word.

'AC? You okay?' he finally asked, regretting it the very moment he spoke.

Anti Cosmo's dejected gaze slowly rose upward to meet with the eyes of his Rose.  
He blinked several times, as if he tried to fully recover himself from whatever sea of apathy he was drifting in.  
As a preamble to his outspoken answer he presented the boy a quite competently faked smile. 'Asking about my well being, how nice of you, darling. Do not trouble your most adorable self, I am fine. Thank you. 'That smile wasn't good enough to fool Timmy and the dull voice of course didn't help either.  
'No you're not' the boy stated firmly, not intending to let it go, as they say. 'You were out.'  
'Ah, that's nothing-' Anti Cosmo tried to explain himself,  
'For fifteen minutes' but he was cut down by the boy's merciless tone and the undeniable point of his statement and the implications it brought within.  
A sincere, but a bitter smile took the place of the fake one, as two pairs of eyes fought against each other in a showing off competition of strength: The loathing blue , piercing insight versus the defensive, green stubborn avoidance.  
In both heads thoughts were roughly battling for sure.  
Finally, Timothy spat out his only conclusion.  
' WILL I DIE TONIGHT,AC?! WILL I?!'  
The state of shock that stiffened the man's face was visible and impacting enough for Timmy to know it was real, ergo legit. The Rose wanted to instantly follow with a million of another words, but politely, he gave Anti Cosmo a second to at least try to react, respond, reply-whatever to what he just shouted out into his amusingly confused face.  
'Wha-?'

In Timmy's opinion, it was enough for a reply for now.  
'You've been happy, cheerful, something, I don't know, and then you went, like, totally psycho depressed and that's totally what sad psychos do when they know that it's their psycho time to kill someone they kinda like, or might have liked, felt bonded with, something, I don't know, so they feel sad and or sorry but since they're psychos they kill them anyway and that's exactly what you look like you're experiencing right now, so I am, hereby directly asking you once more: AM I BETTER DEAD FOR YOU?! IS IT A GOOD TIME NOW OR SHOULD I FINISH MY TEA FIRST?!' Running out of energy and air, the boy cut down the stream of fear-covered words. And begun to breathe heavily, at the same time placing his watery sea-colored and sized eyes on his interlocutor.  
The said interlocutor on the other hand although didn't fully get out of his apathetic state of higher inspiration, he found himself woken up enough to place a hand o his face and let his jaw dropped for long seconds.. Not really being aware of it, he stood up from his chair and made a few steps towards his little trembling guest and his half empty cup of tea. Oddly, at first the cup gained his attention, for he said, with an unusually weak voice 'How many cubes of sugar, for fuck's sake, did I put into your tea…?'  
In this state of stress, neither of the two got bothered by that sudden "French".  
Of course, right after that the man focused himself directly on the boy. Anti Cosmo crouched before the fragile, trembling child and as he did he cupped the soft, but burning and tear-stained face with his cold, coarse palms. 'Shush' he started, right before Timmy was about to emit incoherent, fearful noises from his mouth. 'Listen 'Anti Cosmo paused for a moment to make sure that the boy was actually ready to listen. 'A night shall come, darling, when I will sneak into your lovely house and crawl up to your precious bedroom door. I am and I shall be as silent as windless evening in the city of dead, and no one will hear me coming. I will stand near your bed and will look at your delicious, tiny frame as you peacefully sleep, oblivious as a little lamb. Slowly, step by step I will be nearer and nearer…'he made a pause to take a look at the Rose's pale face ruled by fear and nothing more, when he noticed that as he spoke he kept leaning closer and their faces were now merely inches away from each other. He could fell Timothy's harsh breath on his face, but at the moment, he did not care. 'Then, my dearest dolly, I will make sure nobody sees or hears us, I will take off my coat and I will take out my sharpest knife, and, darling, and then…I WILL CUT THE FUCK ALL THE WIRES AND I'LL THROW YOUR TV OUT THROUGH THE WINDOW, I SHALL BURN IT WITH UNHOLY FIRE AND MAKE IT BLEED WITH ELECTRICITY!'

Now it was Timmy's turn to blink, hear, but not believe. He was pretty sure he didn't get anything besides "fuck" and "wires", otherwise it would make no sense.

'What?'  
'"What" is my question, poor child! Who ever heard a child to speak such things! It surely is late night crime televisions that must have messed up with your cute little head so badly!  
It is not good for anyone to go this CSISherlockDiscoveryChannelCrimeStory and mix up fiction with reality! The fuck, I was just having a moment of a deeper thought, obviously such a thing did not ever happen to you so far, Timothy?' The man sighed heavily and sat down powerless on the floor right in front of the dazed child.  
'So you won't kill me?'  
'I won't.'

A moment of awkward silence occurred.  
'Why?'  
'You are insane, my crazy little lollipop, you truly are.'  
'You did this to me' This scoffing reply, the man found endlessly amusing. The child was probably right, too. He couldn't help but laugh.  
'What are you laughing at?!'  
'You know, the funny thing is, that I could say quite the same thing about you doing things to my tormented head.'  
"There were many, many things wrong with your head even without me being around to trigger anything" scoffed the boy who wasn't really sure if he liked to know where the conversation was going or not. Assuming of course, that he wanted it to go on anyway, upon which he could not decide either. Why did everything look as stupid as math once again and why was he given only unknowns to solve this equation? His heavy sigh told him that slowly he began to surrender to this atmosphere of surreal inadequacy that kept accompanying him for the whole day. He understood somehow that it was meant to stay here for the night, too. And great heavens, so was he. And nothing, no-fucking-thing could be done about that. Why? Because everything was in both ways awesome-scary, wrong, and yet-unique and new which made his situation impossible to even take place, not to mention getting it back to normal just like that. In the morning, when he'll be safe and sound, he'll try to figure out which one was eventually closer to the truth, he thought. Slowly, he tried to replace his shattered emotions and thoughts with something that at least resembled logic. The boy knew that he was quite widely known in the Fairy World, being a troublemaker, The Chosen One and all that stuff, so for AC, harming him just like that would mean the exact opposite of merits. And as far as Timmy knew, Anti Cosmo liked merits. That pretty much meant to him that other than getting a temporary emotional scar from his mind being constantly poked with today's madness like a stick, he was moderately safe. And, since his happy trip through this filthy river of nonsense wasn't supposed to end with anything deadly, it made more sense to swim with the current rather than against it.  
After several heavy minutes of thinking, staring at the blue lips, cut open in a naughty smile again (and those smiling lips were obviously speaking something, but he did not care to pay any attention) some more thinking and getting tired, staring like that still, but with his blue, innocent eyes less frightened with each second, an exhaustion lined, dispirit-filled calmness overflew him. Compared to being a bundle of nerves, he found his current state quite soothing. Was it this what Anti Cosmo have been experiencing a moment ago? Was he nervous then, too? Why?

Suddenly a mix of sounds which latter happened to be sentence-making words snapped him out of his track of thought. 'Stop staring at my teeth, darling' said the teeth he kept staring at.

It took a moment for Timmy's senses to grasp the full picture again. Well what do you know! There actually was a whole damn face behind those inexplicably huge canines! Because, like, teeth did not speak and stuff-his common sense explained that to him just in case he would need it.  
'Aah I get it now'-he said out loud, in the very moment he remembered he wasn't alone and running happily with scissors in his own head anymore.  
'Get what, my kitten?' Asked the man, being both intrigued and amused at the same time.  
'I think I get the thinking part' he plainly said. In an answer to that answer, the Anti Fairy burst out with laughter.  
'I beg your pardon?'  
Timmy frowned. 'Shut up! I'm tired even without your mouth starting with stupid sounds each time I open mine!'  
'Oh. Very well then. That was very rude of me, I'm shutting the hell up, please go on' Anti Cosmo covered his lips discreetly in case he needed to laugh again.  
'I think I understand why were you so weird few minutes ago. I think I understand why you looked…sad.'  
' Well, I'm glad you _think_ so' The man replied, offering his little Rose a smile and a pat on his head, while wondering at the same time why he did use the word "sad" instead of the usual "psycho". 'So much thinking stuff you did there, no wonder you're exhausted, since it's the first time it happens to you' he said partly playfully, partly mockingly. Then he finally got back to his feet and was about to occupy himself with the teacups once more. 'What I think on the other hand, is that we should finally prepare you a dinner and get you ready for bed.'  
Timmy froze for a second.  
'I'd rather not?'  
The blue-shirted chest let out a small sigh. Its owner didn't like to explain the same things sixty times, but for his Rose he would. Over and over again, until the world would finally go to hell, he would. Without a single frown.  
'Listen, about the bed, I'm not going to play doctor with you unless you feel ill enough to _need_ me to examine you _thoroughly_, so you can cut it out.'

The Rose's face curled in general disgust.

'I was talking about the food. If it's British cooking we'll have to skip that part'  
'Are you being a bitch, sweetheart?' the shocked and hurt gentleman laughed in disbelief.  
'A moment ago I was your awesomest guest and now I'm, well, _that_ because I asked about dinner. I can't wait to see what's next.'  
'The word didn't describe you, just your attitude. Which I love, even if it hurts me' Anti Cosmo tried to explain himself. Still, he was perfectly aware, that the boy was just fooling with him right now. Well, at least with pretending to feel offended. He wasn't sure about that food part, though. 'If it settles you I can serve you something different, mon comtesse.'  
'Okay' agreed Timmy while wondering what on Earth could "mon comtesse" stand for.  
'So the food really was the issue?'  
'Yes, it was.'  
'So, it means you do not mind playing doctor at all?' Asked the man viciously, getting his revenge upon him being made an idiot just a second ago.  
In return, Timmy's grimace of disgust instead of being a general one, gained a very definite target. On top of that, the tiredness prevailed.  
'Shut up and feed me already, will you? With edible food.'  
'Aww, my baby needs a nap, how touching.' Anti Cosmo laughed, ignoring the insult, and walked away with the unfinished tea.  
'Hey, wait a minute, weren't you supposed to treat me with a tea ?'  
'Knock it off, you never wanted it in the first place.'  
'Well, yeah? I wanted to drink it, but you had to scare the heart out of me and I kinda changed my mind!'  
'It seems I stand corrected. Please forgive.' With those sincere words on his lips he reentered the room with a marvelously presenting roasted quail, its smell overwhelming and the dressing being the most fanciful the boy had ever seen, TV included. 'Stolen for you with love. Bon appétit' He added with a sly, yet truthful smile as he placed the plate In front of his choosy little guest, who this time shown no pretensions and raised up his fork with his eyes gleaming with joy.

The journey on the dining room-bed axis was not a long one, but it was still cold enough in the outer part of the stolen Atlantis complex for the boy literally shiver after getting used to a much warmer environment inside the buildings with his back delightfully stroked by the warmth of the fireplace as he sat by the table shaking, sobbing then relaxing and eating(almost as if the two first things never happened). But outside nothing helped his still quite tensed muscles to calm down. In fact this very poor, almost non-existing lighting somehow only kept intensifying the overwhelming impression of the body-numbing cold. Timmy already began to miss his fireplace friend. And as he paced through another aisles, with his being held firmly by his host's enormous palm (and he allowed this to happen only so he wouldn't get lost in there, as he informed the man as he crossed the threshold), he took himself some time to focus only on his surroundings. And those surroundings happened to defy the laws of physics, just like too many things in his life did so far, he thought. He clearly enough remembered being taught at school something about light producing heat. Still, the only light he had around, given by those tiny, glowing orbs which in great numbers flew everywhere around him in no particular order-instead of being warm, were cold as ice. That was mainly why instantly he found them also very annoying since they accidentally or not kept colliding with his skin every now and then.  
Letting out an irritated sigh, the boy decided to focus on something else. And he didn't have to look far-the hand that held his own was something the boy would sooner or later pay attention to. A fairly-well interesting object he had to admit, but at least, on the contrary to everything else around it was a small asylum of pleasant warmth. Other than that, it was blue (but since it wasn't a news-flash at all he dropped it), its skin quite coarse and wrinkled, with thick, dark veins almost popping out through it. A palm of a working man one might say, but Timmy noticed there was something else, something that made it more, more in a way the poor boy could not match with anything he knew: the hand looked like a battlefield, covered with many, many scars. Scars, that no regular knives could leave. Swords, perhaps?-Turner's puzzled mind asked itself. But why would an Anti Fairy use it, and what is more confusing and important-why would an Anti Fairy like Anti Cosmo fight against one? It didn't make sense. But then again, what did make sense today. Being locked up on an underground Atlantis placed directly below a top-secret, legendary military base, with a wry-minded male as his only companion, who virtually kidnapped him earlier that day when he was extremely busy bitching about being lost in an open countryside somewhere in Europe, yet staying kidnapped mostly of his own free will-NO. There was no day and no universe on which all of this and that scarred hand would make sense. And nothing, simply nothing could go any more wrong.  
Right...?

He didn't get to figure out anything more, for he was forced to stop in a halt, unless he wanted to run onto his guide and get blessed with another rather unpleasant comment for it, which he didn't.  
'Say, Timothy, would you care for another bath or perhaps a shower before you go to bed?'Asked the man as they stood before the entrance of what Timmy recalled to be the bath he's been in before.  
Instead of even processing the given question to decode it, he raised his hand, waving with Anti Cosmo's wrist almost in front of his nose, and pointing at the scars, he asked 'What's that?'  
'You seem to be very…autistic tonight, don't you Timothy? Anti Cosmo raised an eyebrow in disbelief.  
A few more wavings only told him that indeed, he was and that he'd stay "autistic" like that as long as he won't get an answer.  
'It's a memento, cupcake. Now please, go take a shower, it surely will relax both your troubled body and your troubled mind.'  
'A memento of what?' the boy insisted.  
'Of my liberation. Now, go. That is a story too long to tell it out in cold, especially to extremely tired listeners like you, my dear.'  
Timmy let go of the hand, his pretty face curling in disappointment. He stepped then into the building, and turned his head around a bit to face his interlocutor again.  
'And what if you'll never get a second opportunity to tell me that story? Would you manage to find anyone else who'd listen?'  
The man gave his Rose a worried look as the boy gracefully and with visible superiority entered the depths of the baths.  
'Call me when you're ready, I'll prepare you something adequate to wear' Anti Cosmo announced as he sat on the pavement, this time not even thinking of using his special mirror. He simply unbuttoned and took of his vest as a slight shadow of fatigue finally conquered the fortress of his will and slipped somewhere into his old, old bones. Having a solitary moment to think, he remembered to poof himself a new monocle when he already got his wand to get some clothes for his precious little boy.  
'This is exactly what I needed' he said to himself, once again fully enjoying the goods of clear vision.  
Although temporary, soon the solitude began to feel awkward again. After another, longer while, he eventually gave up, glanced up the entrance and spoke 'Boy, when it comes to certain things, you are worse than a woman.'

'Shut up!' Replied Timmy who in the very first moment since he's gotten used to getting scoffed by people for spending hours in the bathroom. Even through the stream of running water he could hear the man groaning impatiently. As a word of comfort he offered him a slightly mocking laughter, as he also learned not to give a damn about the whole issue and the bastards who dared to make a fuss. Perfection needs time, does it not?  
Anti Cosmo smiled widely instead of feeling in any way offended. He liked the boy a whole lot more when he could hear him laughing, rather than seeing him busy with heavy thinking about heavens only know what kind of an outer space nonsense like being a victim of homicide, blood spotted tea parties with cold tea being the problem, or meaningless, ugly scars on an old man's hand. The man pondered about it for a moment, and with mixed feelings he had to admit that his Rose undoubtedly had some of his pretty petals upside down, to say the least. He wondered if Timothy already admitted the same thing to himself, accepting the truth that he was too fucked up for a regular little boy he pretended to be.  
But, considering the fact that he did stay with him here despite all of his abusive, and heavily subtexted insinuations, because he found something in his beautiful head that convinced him that it was in any way a okay thing to do-the boy simply had to know that his mind was a cuckoo's nest, otherwise he wouldn't allow anything like this happen to him, no kid would, being in his place.  
Anti Cosmo sighed and placed a palm on his face to express the irony of the situation-now he was the one who's been thinking too much.  
'Oh Timothy, hurry up, will you! You don't want me to go in there and take you by force, do you? And I don't necessarily mean getting you out of the bathroom.'  
'I can tell even without you explaining it 'sighed the boy when he shown up in the entrance a moment later. 'Letting alone the filthy tone of your voice, the repulsive thing you have for me wearing tight shorts in front of you makes it disgustingly suggestive.' After staring for another moment at his new "pajamas", being a pink, buttoned shirt and very tight, very short shorts in a very matching colour, he gave Anti Cosmo the most infuriated and sickened look he has not gotten from him in hours from now, and commented 'the hell, dude…Shorts. Fuck , what is wrong with you, do you think it makes me look and feel good or what?!'

'Yes'.  
'We are so not sleeping in the same room, man.'  
'Of course we are not. And I simply like shorts, 'the fuck is wrong with you? Does certain clothing always wake up some dirty thoughts in you?'  
'Oh yeah?! Well if you like shorts so much why don't you wear them?!'  
'Probably because I'm too old.'  
'And I'm too young!'  
'But old enough to wear pink hats and dresses?'  
'Shut up! Or at least argue with me somewhere else because it's too cold for it here!'  
Anti Cosmo couldn't resist giggling. He grabbed the hand of his vicious little boy and lead him again. 'Silly you' was the last thing he decided to say.  
'Stupid you' Timmy replied.  
XXXOOOXXXOOOXXX

The bedroom appeared to be something completely different from what the boy expected it to be. Even though his knowledge of the culture of the antique was very limited to say the least, easily he could tell that the interior's Victorian splendor his sky-blue eyes saw did not match neither the austere stone block walls of once supposingly served as sort of a temple nor even the millennium it was built in. The overloads of not necessarily beautiful or matching ornaments striked his vision from every single corner of the room, and what's more to it-it looked like it would just get through a hurricane, the furniture was in a complete, disastrous mess-chairs collapsed one on another, pictures damaged, dark wallpapers coming off and severely shredded, all mirrors broken, its' shattered glass glimmering like diamonds in the weak light of cobweb covered candelabras. Everything seemed to bear the expression of one man's abysmal misery...except of the bed. And the bed, it truly was the most majestic wood-crafted thing the boy ever saw in his short, but undeniably very absorbing life. It was a four poster monstrosity, it's satin canopy shining with blood red like the eyes of a devil, it's frame-dark oak wood and elephant bone incrustations, clearly depicting two bodies bonded together in an undoubtedly intimate position (but were the bodies male or female, the boy could not tell). The silky, crimson sheets had the exact undecipherable ornament as the wallpaper, whatever it was it reminded Timmy of the really ugly furniture at his aunt's place. Still, this very design at least didn't look cheap at all. Surely, the bed had to be comfortable, too. He could imagine himself drowning in all those pillows, in the pleasant silk, and great heavens-the warmth. Still, he didn't rush, he walked to it slowly, trying to be careful with the glass, the furniture, everything that might, or might not suddenly injure him. Before even sitting on it, he gave the man a questioning look, on which he replied by simply nodding, and without saying a word he picked the boy's fragile, ephoebic body up and carefully placed him on the bed. Turner found that quite disturbing, but he chose not to complain, as fast as he was done taking his shoes off he buried himself in the sheets up to his chin and simply stared at the other face with both anxiety and anticipation. Suddenly, he remembered something.  
'Hey, AC? Can I ask you something?'  
'You just did' the man said, smiling.

'Something else. Can I?'  
'As long as it's not a stupid question, you can. Is it a stupid question, Timothy?'  
'I dunno. You'll know when I'll finally get to ask it.'  
'Very well then, go on. But if it's really dumb I'm afraid I'll have to slap your pretty cheeks.'  
Just to be sure, the boy covered his face before attempting to speak, but he was instantly corrected.  
'Not these, darling' Anti Cosmo sneered with triumph.  
The said darling shifted uneasily in his satin lair and although he put his hands down, his face burnt red with a blush-a composition of shame and anger.

'Kid-ding. Ask.'

'What's up with this shining, floating ice balls?'  
'Oh, those are not ice balls, Timothy! In fact, I would not even dare to refer to them as objects.'  
'You mean it lives?'  
The man started to laugh, but it was not a regular, in any way laughter, it was heavily threaded with despair, which made it scary. Automatically, the "its" gained a status of "scary", too.  
'Oh, the cruel irony, my boy…The problem with this scum company is, that they are dead, which is exactly why they are here. They are the souls of the original inhabitants of the Atlantis. Not all of them, of course. Those are mostly the priests and officials.

Just as I said, scumbags, darling.'  
The little body froze under the sheets, so did its mind. Sure, he knew that Anti Cosmo was a man without sanity, but why would he go this far to lock up some souls in his lair…and then call them scum? Was it just him, or did it really make no sense?  
'Oh, don't you look at me like this! I do realize that you consider yourself a specialist of some sort when it comes to fairies and such, which you're not, but really, darling. Do you think that we, the outcast opposites of your fairy friends got our magic from Jorgen? A different sort of power must rely on different source. And this source, my dear, as the payment for rewarding me with certain magic demands certain sacrifices. And if I took a place, I had to take with myself everything that lies in it. In a way, you could say that I rent this place from these fellows. It is odd, I agree, but it has it good sides, well, or do I've heard, and it's bad sides which I already had many, many opportunities to experience.'  
While the most of the explanation sounded rather matter of factly, the last part held a burden of intense, and very poorly hidden emotions. Timmy did not really know why, but he felt a great urge to drill the subject, even if it meant getting in more trouble. And besides, ghost stories-how could he resist! Like most of the adventurous children he adored to listen to them despite knowing, that in the end he would be frightened to death, bitterly regretting his decision. And at that moment he did not know whether there was something he might later regret, or not, so it was worth trying, and definitely even more tempting. After all, if the cat eats quantum physics for breakfast and is in a superposition, can curiosity kill it?  
'So…are they stalking you or what?' the Rose eventually asked, showing-to the man's joy-a non pretended interest in his words of doubtful wisdom.  
Anti Cosmo mused about it for a while, and scratched his chin while doing so. Was it really that difficult kind of a question or was the man trying to avoid the truth in some way? The boy was not able to tell, but suspecting the latter, he got slightly nervous, and to express his feelings, he put his burning gaze right in front of the other man's face to see. Unexpectedly, he seemed not to notice it, and after another second, just as if he was slowly coming back to reality out of somewhere (or perhaps some-when, pondered the boy) far, far away, he spoke, quite unsurely 'I say, if those souls had mouths to speak, they would probably tell you that they are being constantly stalked, on what of course, I simply cannot agree.' Timmy did not say a thing, that wicked answer could not possibly tell him anything. 'May I?' Suddenly the man asked, pointing at the edge of the enormously huge bed which easily could serve for at least three grown up people. The boy, dumbfounded at the oddly shy attitude just gave a nod. Anti Cosmo sat down carefully, making sure to keep adequate distance between the two of them and was about to continue explaining, yet with his eyes, this once, fixed not on the boy, but at something distant outside of the window, placed directly above the bed, as he boy gazed upward, he could clearly see the ancient souls floating carelessly between the columns and statues. They looked almost like stars, but glowing incomparably harder and moving all the time. Oh yeah, and how could he forget, the stars were ancient fairy guardians, and those were dead people. Dead fucking people everywhere around him, not only seeing him, but brushing his skin also. Now he could see, that was not accidental, they wanted something from him, dear God… He was trying to figure it out as hard as he could, but he simply couldn't. Defeated, he buried himself deeper into the sheets, hoping to find there some kind of a solace. Hoping still to figure it out as soon as possible, he listened carefully to the man when he spoke.  
'In a way, by living here, I owe them something. But, knowing too damn good  
how the minds of the living work, they found themselves, how to put it, an entertaining way to exact the debt. Do you want to know how they do it? Of course you do, even if you think you don't. And it's very simple in all of its artistry-they give you a chance to open yourself in front of them and they may or may not fulfill what their debtor, being my humble person in this particular case, longs for the most. And whatever it is, they can do it easily, just look at their numbers-thousands of them each one wielding an ancient power how much greater than mine, you'll never imagine, darling. And this power was given to them by a force that nothing in the universe has conquered yet. To get a glimpse of that power and their mercy you have to make a sacrifice, the more you long for something, the more and the faster you have to give, and even if you sacrifice everything you are, even if you're as close to death as one can only be, they will probably still say no. But it is always too late before the victim realizes it. It's a killing spiral, once you sign a contract with them, all the strings that held you firmly with life are being cut, so you, can only fall and fall and fall and die. And all of the poor souls that confide in them keep begging for an acknowledge of any sort, and this is why it can be said that they are being stalked. But that's just bull, you know.'  
'What…Who gave them that power, a right to do so?' The boy asked, frightened that there may be new kinds of forced he'll have to stand up against someday in the future, just like he had to with all the dark fucking forces in the whole damn world and where not.  
'Death. What goes around comes around, you know' the man replied plainly.  
_False alarm, that' s nothing new, unexpected or avoidable.  
"No, wait. Wait, wait, wait"_-Timmy corrected his track of thought. "_This is still scary and bad and wrong and- _**WAIT A MINUTE**"  
'But you didn't sign that contract, did you?'  
In answer, the man offered a bitter laugh and took off his monocle just to flip it between his fingers. Eventually, a rhetorical question followed the laughter 'And do I look like a madman to you, Timothy?'  
Then he passed the monocle to the boy, but he instead of noticing it just lashed out the man with verbal anger.  
'What the hell were you thinking?! You could live forever you asshat, but you gave it away! If I could live forever I-'

'You'd be bored. You'd be looking for a change' the man broke the ranting as casually as if life and death really meant nothing to him.  
'Were you looking for a change, then?!'  
'It may sound stupid to you, but, when I was younger, there was something, I really needed. It was a little thing, something most of the people don't notice until they lose it. I won't tell you what it was, you'll have to figure it out for yourself if you'll ever feel like trying. But, going back to the point, I thought, I believed that I simply couldn't go on without it. I was lying to myself, but comparing all the time I've spent believing my lie was true and the time that passed since I discovered the truth, it would look like I changed my mind a moment ago. But that moment, in the way I feel it now, feels longer than almost ten thousand years I've left behind, so long I've nearly lost the track of time. But it couldn't be more than two mere years from now. Silly, ha? Then I understood what I really need, the old thing evolved into…' In the nick of time he managed not to let the word "you" slip away from his mouth. 'something else. And I begged harder and harder and harder. I lost more and more and more, and I've been staring at them from the very first moment I realized my life changed, I stared for hours, days, months without looking away. And they kept taking and taking what I was willingly giving, eventually, ignoring everything else, they took my eye, they were tired of me looking at them, ha. Still, as far as I can, well, see, they say no. Humans do much for their dreams too, do they not, Timothy?'  
But Timothy did not answer. He just gawked at the monocle he held in his shaking, little palms. Never before in his life his watery eyes saw a simple item of everyday use as a thing so dreadful, wrong. The lens Anti Cosmo wore when Timmy first met him was definitely lighter. Yet this one…the boy tried to fix it on his own eye. And "dear God" was the only thing he could think of. He felt truly horrible, he couldn't specify why exactly, but he felt like he would be drifting in a sea of nausea, greater and greater waves coming over him, choking him. And pity, great heavens, lots of pity, flying above his shipwrecked soul like starving vultures. Then they got to his head, his eyes and he began to weep bitterly, his tears hot and saline. They got to his heart, nearly ripping it out, because hope, death and failure in one drink were a killing mixture. They got to his liver, oh great lord, he was Prometheus.  
'Anti Cosmo…? On that day, when you began to beg and stare, were you sad?'  
Anti Cosmo did not answer, neither did the silence, nor the monocle. Somehow the Rose understood that it had to be something that words could describe.  
The man plainly stood up, fixed the bedclothes on the boy and for a millisecond he dared, but with great fear of rejection, to sunk his fingers in his precious darling's soft hair and stroke it gently. The boy did not oppose-he was exhausted, he was crying, he was sad and he was Prometheus. He sobbed, something inside of him has broken. He looked up and he saw that palm again, his consciousness registered that somehow his body already recalled this soothing touch. Higher above he saw a chin, and he was sure that he knew it too, even higher those eyes. Dear god, those eyes, they were disgracefully bleeding salty water too. Oh, those eyes, that one eye…Dear lord, and above them-the dead. Interfering with his life without even saying hello, and laughing. He could tell they were laughing.  
More sobbing, more weeping, more fear.  
'_Shhhhh…_' but his voice was there to soothe him. '_Shhhh…._' The one that used to say "in your face " and sneer. '_Shhh…_' And now it was a lullaby. '_Shhh…_' A bloodless pacification of his fear…and the violent, nauseating sea and the hungry vultures too. '_Shhh…_'  
'AC, please stay here with me until I fall asleep…they scare me.'  
'Fear not. Nothing will hurt you as long as I'm around.'  
'And what if you're gone?'  
'There is no way to get rid out of me, Timmy.'  
Dear God, he said "Timmy".  
And the way it was said, it sounded:

-calming,

-alarming,

-good,  
-bad,  
-right,  
-wrong,  
-justified,  
-out of place,  
-revolting,

-soothing,

-like a nightmare,  
-dreamy,

-appropriate,

-like nonsense –all of this at once, he couldn't decide which side prevailed or even should prevail in the first place.  
But the fact that it happened, was startling in a way impossible to describe. Was the universe about to collapse? Dear God.  
Oh, the divine hand at his troubled temple,  
pet him more, pet him more,  
let him sleep…  
There are no tears in the dream-made world without this forgotten Atlantis.  
Hey, divine hand, you can come along.  
But he'd rather go alone…and sleep…

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXX

Anti Cosmo still sat in the lap of his little Rose, contemplating peacefully the beauty and innocence of the boy's face, the charm that it gained-heavy eyelids already fallen on the sky-blue eyes, muscles relaxed, but cheeks still burnt with tears and deep toned blushes.  
Eventually he move his gaze away, but only to check if everything was in order, to make sure he did not miss anything of relevance, did not let any threat slip in unnoticed.  
'I feel funny.'  
This sudden, weak, unsure voice burst the vigilant Anti Fairy away from his track of thoughts and sharpened all of his senses at once.  
'For how long have you felt like this, now?' the man asked, filled with the most powerful concern he's ever had toward any being in any of the universes he knew.  
'Several minutes, half an hour, maybe' Timmy mumbled quietly. 'At first I thought I was just getting sleepy, I thought it would go away' he opened his eyes then, terror gleaming through his gaze. 'But it didn't. And it grows.'  
'Could you please describe this feeling somehow?'  
'I don't know…it's…new…'  
'But, is it a bad thing?'  
'I dunno…'

The boy's eyes closed again. Anti Cosmo placed his palm on his darling's forehead and instantly realized it was burning like a freshly fired stake.  
He had not time to think how much of a nonsense it was, how suspiciously it looked, he did not even remember he could translocate or fly-he grabbed the numb, fragile body into his arms and ran, not really thinking, but yet somehow knowing where.

Outside of the ruins souls of the dead spread their tiny forms all over the ink-black sky and sparked cheerfully like the eyes of the cunning beasts they in fact were.  
Not paying attention to the unusual theater of lights above Anti Cosmo ran into the moldy fountain, finally stopping when they both were almost fully covered with water, laying on the concrete, shallow bottom.  
In contact with water, the boy regained full consciousness and groaned to show his discontentment upon the actions performed against his body. Anti Cosmo could swear that for a second or two the boy looked around like a cornered, rabid animal wanting to escape. Being a flawless gentleman of course, he helped his little guest sit and sat himself vis-**à**-vis, still making sure that the filthy, but cold water fell directly on the buy's head, hopefully calming down the raging fire in his body. After a moment they both were completely soaked through. The thin, buttoned, pink shirt Timmy was given by his generous host was of no use, except for revealing his erected nipples piercing through the material. Anti Cosmo would have focus his gaze on that pleasant view for a longer while if it weren't for the terrifying burst of an unknown illness that mercilessly struck down his sweetheart.  
'God, I was so scared, AC!' Suddenly started the boy, and, unnaturally to him-he clung himself to the man's chest without a second thought on what he did. He began to shake as he successfully installed himself in the firm, soothing grasp of the other, stronger body.  
'Hush, my dearest rose, do not cry your eyes out, precious…they are what keeps me ali-'  
His most fierce and loving whispers of consolation were broken off by something the least expected-a pair of lips unsurely and clumsily invading his own. But the entrance was granted right before it was about to be begged for-it took a moment before Anti Cosmo understood what was going on. Until he did, he thoughtlessly leaned into the long sought kiss, and of course, did everything he could to improve its quality. Shamelessly he moaned as he entered the forbidden cave of the warm mouth of his beloved one. He felt like the Columbus discovering and thoroughly exploring the virgin land of the little boy's mouth.  
The child moaned back content, getting the attention he has been craving for, and of course joyfully experiencing the rich range of flavors that the forbidden fruit of a kiss could give.  
Licking, teasing, teaching how to fight back, the man ecstatically played with both lips and tongues, not intending to stop, but the sad realization collapsed onto his genius mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away:

Little boys do not kiss like that.  
Little boys do not kiss first.  
Little boys do not kiss sad, old men.  
Also,  
Sad, old men should not kiss little boys.  
Because it makes them cry.  
You don't hurt the ones you love.  
At least not on purpose.

Before he broke the kiss he gave Timmy's sweet upper lip a last playful suck for goodbye, on what he replied with a need-tainted little moan, which could only mean one thing: more.  
Anti Cosmo checked the boy's temperature and oddly, it seemed to be just fine. Dumbfounded, he looked then into those blue eyes he adored so much, and failed to see any humanity behind them. The little boy's mouth reached out for more pleasure, but his eyes widened in shock at this time the pleasure was coldly denied.  
Sharp, green eyes penetrated the inside of the blue pods of sweet doom as if to read the motives of their owner, hoping to find some answers deep in their dark, mysterious bottom. Still, nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing that might serve for an answer.  
'What the fuck are you and what have you done to my boy?!' the Anti Fairy demanded.  
'Nothing' answered the buckteeth mouth with a soft, inviting whisper 'I'm here. I don't know that either' it chuckled, forestalling the upcoming, obligatory "how". 'But I told you it…grew…And now I **need it**'.  
The man shook his head violently, disbelieving what he just heard.  
'Listen. I will eventually be forced to hurt you if we keep this shenanigans going.'  
'It hurts when I wait, I need this feeling out. You are the key to release it!'  
It was absolutely not the way the man had planned it. Even in the most vicious states of his mind he wanted to tame the boy first before he got to his pants. When pure love was overtaking him, like it did now, he wanted to wait until his Rose would bloom before he would sink himself in his blossom.  
Having his prey giving himself into his trap was much less of a success, but, it still was way too much of a pleasure to resist for long. Every word he said, although it sounded like aimed at the boy, it was in fact a desperate attempt to convince his own sinful, imperfect body not to take what it was given. Those kittens in anger evolved into panthers. The panthers were hungry and very, very impatient. The man hoped that his darling would change his mind in time, while he still could hold his panthers and horses, and loins and body and whatnot on a leash made from his easily bending will and very weak morals.  
'That's wrong' he plainly said, not even knowing how to start.  
Timmy groaned and stood up, lifting up his soaked shirt and revealing a suspicious bump in his pink cotton shorts. It was obvious what it was, but technically, it couldn't be _that_.  
The body knew what kind of a "treatment" to serve so that "problem" would be taken care of, but still, the man remained speechless. Hungry eyes were admiring what they were given, but the cold mind tried to process the facts: if it had no reason to happen naturally, then…  
A sudden revelation. A quick glance at the sky where the dead bitches and bastards were dancing around happily, mocking his misery and the innocence of his child. After years of begging and sacrifices, they answered the prays of the mad man in their own, even madder way. Those damn people sure had a fucking great sense of humor in the ancient times. The Innocence was spreading its legs and begged to get pierced with a piece of filthy flesh and killed. Oh, between the bees knees a priceless reward was waiting for him only to befriend. Here, at this fountain. Now. What could possibly be funnier than that.  
'Please' insisted the trembling voice.  
But he did not move.  
'Please' it repeated as a pair of fragile legs twisted around the shivering, hungry but un cooperating body. 'Please' there was a whisper and a tiny hand that wandered straight down to where it should never go and it touched the beasts and it yanked at their leash so they would rebel against their master, who was on the very edge of his nerves.  
'Do not tease me, boy! A grown up man is a stupid thing, it will not stop once it crosses the line, no matter how much you will cry and beg for mercy it shall not be given. Timothy, do not pull me by the sleeve to cross that line with you today. I don't want to stain you this way. You do not want it either and do not listen to whatever that is convincing you otherwise right now!'  
Three determined strokes through the black pant's material clearly commented that "otherwise" was a ok. The first one was the final pull that made him cross the line. The second stroke broke the leash. The third released the instincts.  
Two trembling hands grabbed the delicate thighs, their master already thinking of hundreds of ways to use and abuse both that beautiful body and it's owner.  
The dying resistance pierced the sky through his lungs and throat within its last breath:  
'Make him forget it! Make him forget it! Make him forget it!  
All to no avail, it has been decided. The pair disappeared the smudge of thousands illuminating souls flew towards the bedroom window so they could see better and laugh harder.  
XXXOOOXXXOOOXXX

Several words, like:  
'Is there something you want to say, before…?'  
'Yes, keep your shoes on, cause bare feet are my turn-off.'

Or  
'Give me a second'  
Suddenly, bat-like wings spread wide in their full, terrifying glory, it's owner frowning groaning in pain as they start to shake, wither like a flower, turn into dust and finally stop existing.  
More words, like:

'Why?'  
'So I wouldn't accidentally cause you even more pain.'  
At last, clothes off, bodies falling on the bed, and then…

There was that touch again and it had the power to open things inside of him. The power to make him open up wider, further. Nothing to see. A whole lot of things to experience (good? bad? What difference did it make?). Head tilted back, a ceiling to look at. Eyes shutting tight, ceiling unimportant. Neck, touch, neck, tongue, neck, lips…  
Lower: skin brushing skin, body responding, fists clenching, chest waving in the rhythm of the received stimulation, back arching when the palms wandered through the desserts…  
Lower: stimulus, shivers, lips, licks, mouth, warmth, hands, legs, knees, moist, hands, pull, closure, abdomen, palms, face, kisses, whispers, words, hands retreating, palms, legs, pelvis, pull, pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, tears, pain, screams, pain, whispers, pain, kisses, pain, apologies, pain, moving, pain, spasm, pain, palm, pain, reach, pain, moving, back, pain, fingers, pain, moving, pain, scratching, panting, panting, touch, warmth, moving, moving, moving, moving, pain, pain, scratching, panting, moving, adjustment, breathing, arching, ache, noise, embrace, closure, again, hands, touch, want, regret, more, more, more, lover, over, breath, gaze, look away, whispers, apologies, breath, eyes, lids, exhaustion, sleep, the dawn.  
**


End file.
